


The Holiday

by AlreadyPainfullyGone



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drag Queens, F/M, M/M, The Holiday AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 17:32:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 30,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1313362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlreadyPainfullyGone/pseuds/AlreadyPainfullyGone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another of my movie AU's. Castiel and Sam are unlucky in both life and love, so they swap houses for the holidays. Both find the experience highly...interesting. Dean/Castiel Sam/Gabriel</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I've found almost everything ever written about love to be true.

Shakespeare said "Journeys end in lovers meeting." What an extraordinary thought. Personally, I have not experienced anything remotely close to that, but I am more than willing to believe Shakespeare had.

I suppose I think about love more than anyone really should. I am constantly amazed by its sheer power to alter and define our lives. It was Shakespeare who also said "love is blind".

Now that is something I know to be true.

For some quite inexplicably, love fades; for others love is simply lost. But then of course love can also be found, even if just for the night. And then, there's another kind of love: the cruelest kind. The one that almost kills its victims. It's called unrequited love.

Of that I am an expert.

Most love stories are about people who fall in love with each other. But what about the rest of us? What about our stories, those of us who fall in love alone? We are the victims of the one sided affair. We are the cursed of the loved ones. We are the unloved ones, the walking wounded. The handicapped without the advantage of a great parking space!

Yes, you are looking at one such individual. And I have willingly loved that man for over three miserable years! The absolute worst years of my life! The worst Christmas', the worst Birthday's, New Years Eve's brought in by tears and valium. These years that I have been in love have been the darkest days of my life. All because I've been cursed by being in love with a man who does not and will not love me back.

"Castiel, hello!" Balthazar approaches through the throng of the Christmas party, The Times office is in full party mode, and Balthazar himself is radiant with seasonal glee.

"Hello Balthazar." Castiel can already feel his face flushing, God knows why, it's not like his attraction to Balthazar is a secret. They'd even dated for six months, until Balthazar had slept with someone else. As Gabriel often pointed out, that was grounds for throwing a fit, using all the swears you could think of, and perhaps pissing on someone as they slept.

Yet to his brother's obvious dismay, Castiel had remained Balthazar's faithful personal assistant in all but name – his actual job was reporting the weddings for the lifestyle section of the paper.

"I actually wanted to talk to you about something..." Balth tells him confidentially, and Castiel feels his heart swell with anticipation and fear. Anticipation because this could be it, the moment Balthazar tells him that he can't live without him, and fear because, in reality it's probably about his dry cleaning, and Castiel will be left wounded once more.

Unfortunately they're interrupted by Crowley, who wants to know if Castiel has submitted the final draft of his column for the next day.

Of course he hasn't, but he had proofreading to do for Balthazar. Crowley clearly knows that, and Castiel is already fully aware that he is pathetic; he doesn't need it pointed out.

Sometimes he wishes he'd just stayed in America – then he would never have met Balthazar, and he never would have wasted years on...

Oh who was he kidding, Sad truth of it was he could never wish that.

By the time he gets done with his work and returns to the party, Bella is already on the temporary stage, tapping a champagne glass for silence.

"Calm down everybody!" she calls over the amassed writers, editors and PA's. "Now, as you all know we've had a great year, you've all done wonderfully – and tonight is all about celebrating that."

The crowd cheer, Castiel raises his glass shyly.

"But it is also about celebrating some rather exciting news...where's Castiel?" She looks over the crowd. "Castiel?"

"Here." Castiel raises a hand.

"I have a tip for you – guaranteed to have not been picked up by another paper yet." She smiles and gestures to someone at the foot of the stage, Balthazar climbs up beside her and she takes his hand. "I am happy to announce that Balth and I...are finally getting married." She beams at the cheering, clapping crowd.

Castiel feels something seize up in his chest. Balthazar finds his eyes, a shy smile on his lips, and a kind of pity in his eyes.

That's about all he can stand to see before he turns tail and flees the office.

He manages to get across London, onto the tube and his connecting train and then walk all the way home through the first snow of the season – before he finally can't take it anymore. With the door of his lonely little cottage closed firmly behind him, Castiel slides to the floor by the stairs, Pongo the black and white terrier coming to curl at his side.

"I am not going to cry." He tells the dog, who whines and pulls at the end of Castiel's scarf.

"I am not..." He blinks his eyes closed but a droplet escapes anyway, falling into his lap.

"I am so pathetic." He half sobs to himself.

Pongo only whines in response.

(-*-)

Sam watches Ruby fling the last of her things into the back seat of the Porsche.

"This is totally your fault!" she turns to yell up at the bedroom window. Sam winces and goes to sit on the bed, the bed that as of today, belongs solely to him.

He fails to see how Ruby sleeping with her personal trainer is in any way his fault. Aside from the fact that he hadn't slept with her in...Jesus, four months? That couldn't be right. They lived together for crying out loud, they slept in the same bed. How could he sleep next to Ruby for four months and not sleep with her? Even Dean thought she was hot, and Dean hated Ruby's guts.

Still, he had been busy, what with work and all. There was a big case coming up, huge amounts of preparation had been required. He was busy, that was all. Not hopelessly wedded to his blackberry as his (ex)girlfriend had claimed. So what if he'd put in an office at home and now spent most days holed up in there? He was in no way responsible for Ruby fucking Stephan the polish yoga instructor.

Sam slumped forwards, his head in his hands.

He really needed a vacation.

That, was a great idea.

Sam sat up. He'd just gotten his bonus, he'd finished up all the work he had to do, it wasn't like he had anything keeping him at home – why not take a break somewhere?

He went downstairs to his office, ignoring the bright LA sunlight that streamed through the windows. He located his laptop and started googling – he was after all a seasoned devotee of googlefu.

Sam quickly found that he had some definite opinions about vacations. For example he didn't want to end up in the city, or anywhere like LA, he didn't want to spend his vacation time in a soulless new build villa like the one he currently inhabited.

He wanted to go abroad.

The notion came quite suddenly, and that's how Sam ended up on a site that connected him to house swaps overseas. Which in turn connected him to Castiel Novak's laptop, where nearby, Castiel was recovering, after trying to gas himself over the front burner of his stove.

Castiel had signed himself and his little cottage up for the swapping service some time ago, and had not received a single offer since. But, upon seeing a photo of Sam's sprawling LA mansion, and with the scent of gas still in his nostrils, he could perhaps admit that he could use a vacation, from England and especially from Balthazar.

And his fiancé.

So it was that Castiel and Sam decided to swap houses for a few weeks of well deserved rest.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel hates flying.

It's one of the reasons he rarely visits home, the other being that Gabriel always gets them held up at customs, or by security. His brother had a sometimes dangerous sense of humour, and had gotten Castiel cavity searched on more than one occasion by hiding things in his luggage.

As Castiel downed a miniature, and very expensive, martini in the airport lounge, his phone jingled with Balthazar's ringtone. The fact that he had assigned him his own tune was something that never failed to shame Castiel just a little – but it was vital that he not miss a call, in case Balthazar wanted something.

The text was short and direct, as most of Balth's messages were.

_Cassy, I was going to tell you. Please don't strop._

_I still need you to look over some pages for me._

_When you're over this._

Castiel looks down at the screen, mentally going over his responses. He knows of course, that he is being used, he isn't that dense. But he's happy to be used...or if not happy, at least glad that Balthazar still needs him for something. Even if it is just to read through his book and provide notes. Still, some vestige of pride prompts him to slight anger. But he can't maintain it, instead he feels utterly pitiable, and weakly struggling for change.

He starts to type.

_Balthazar,_

_We both know I need to get over you, please let me at least try._

Castiel reads his own words, snapping his phone closed without sending the message.

This time, he was serious.

He just couldn't, quite, commit to telling Balthazar that.

The flight was uneventful, and Castiel landed with the rest of the passengers in good time. From there it was a short cab ride to Sam Winchester's home.

Castiel had gotten a good impression from Sam. A professional like himself, though markedly more together and less hopelessly emotional. His messages had been polite and enthusiastic, and Castiel had no doubt that the other man would take good care of both his cottage, and his dog.

Sam had described his home as a condo, but when the yellow taxi deposited Castiel there in his rumpled coat, it was more like a gated hotel. Over the wall he could see orange trees and high white walls, large windows and palms. He paid the driver in a state of wonder, once again using American money and feeling quite odd to be doing so. The heat and the sun were new to him, the bright white heat of Los Angeles and not the yellow sun of England's summers.

He uses the code on the front gate and walks up the red brick drive to the large white pillars that border the front door. The place is Edenic, beautifully maintained and planted.

Castiel goes into the house and leaves his suitcase in the hall, walking through the rooms in wonder. Slate floors give way to plush carpets, an entertainment suite, gym, luxury living rooms and a study. Through two large doors he sees an enormous stretch of blue water, an outdoor pool.

Castiel has never seen so much decadence in one place, the whole place designed to be both impressive and simply beautiful.

Oh god, his cottage didn't even have a shower.

He feels a pang of guilt, which lasts until he goes upstairs and finds the bedroom. King sized bed, on a plinth, white linens, white carpet and a canopy of white fabric. The en suite has a water feature – an honest to god water feature.

Castiel is too awe stricken to feel guilt. He's sure Sam can manage with a half-bath. After all, he did didn't he?

Castiel goes back for his suitcase, depositing it in the white bedroom after checking the rest. Later he will find the restaurant grade kitchen, the sauna and the hot tub, the pool table, saloon bar and aromatic gardens (complete with Japanese coy pond and waterfall) right now, he is too tired for words.

A button by the bed lowers shutters over the windows, and from some distant recess, perhaps hidden by one of the plaster angels on the wall, Mozart begins to play at a soft volume.

If he didn't know better, Castiel would think his plane had gone down and he had died on impact.

In his blue boxers he slides between sheets with a thread count higher than his yearly salary, listens to the peaceful music and wonders, despite himself, what Balthazar is doing.

(-*-)

Sam is not a happy lawyer.

For starters, Gatwick airport lost his luggage, so the only clothing he has is the golf shirt and black chinos that were perfectly reasonable when he left home, but faced with the snow and ice of an English winter, have provided less than zero comfort.

Then he'd gotten lost in his rental car, driving on the wrong side of the road (and the wrong side of the car) in a blizzard no less, and finding the cottage after three miserable hours of local radio and local people who he thinks were giving him the wrong directions on purpose.

Now he's finally at the cottage, which is lovely, he has to admit, but there's a dog that howls whenever he looks at it, a bathtub surely intended for the stunted Englishmen of the middle ages, and a complete lack of a television or a computer, as Castiel had apparently taken his laptop away with him.

It was not the vacation he had had in mind.

Still, Sam decided to make the best of it, the house was at least cozy and picturesque, and it had a well stocked larder – containing both whisky, wine and chocolate, which cheered him up considerably. There was also coffee, for which he almost thanked Christ as he brewed a potful and changed from his wet, cold clothes into a long terry cloth robe from Castiel's wardrobe.

Castiel seemed to be a pretty cool guy, from what Sam had gathered, at least in the way that he'd provided such good liquor and food with only a note that said 'Help Yourself' and had set up the bathroom with plenty of clean towels and organic shaving cream. The robe was also new, Sam had found it on the bed with another not 'This was a Christmas present from my brother - feel free to use it'.

His book collection marked him out as a serious kind of man, a lot of classics and poetry and compendiums of plays. Which sort of answered the question of what Castiel did for fun. Sam investigated the rest of the house, found treats with which to woo the panicky dog, and discovered a couple of magazines in the linen closet that explained the lack of a wife or girlfriend around the place.

Sam sat on the couch with an book, a glass of wine and a large piece of chocolate cake.

Let the vacation begin.

Ten seconds later, Dean phoned.

Sighing, but grateful for the presence of a signal in the remote cottage, Sam opened his phone and discovered a text.

_Don't worry, I found it._

Confused, Sam scrolled through the other messages that he must have gotten on the plane while he phone was off.

_Dude, Can I crash with you tonight?_

_You changed the gate code? Not cool._

_Climbed the wall – like a boss!_

_Ok guess you're asleep, I'll use the hide-a-key._

_Shit, where'd you put it?_

Sam looked down at the phone for a second, then frantically dialled Dean's number.

It was turned off.

He dialled the house phone.

He'd left it on silent so as not to bother Castiel with his office calls.

Sitting in the cottage, Sam realised there was only one thing he could do.

He put down his phone and picked up his glass, hoping that Dean would get out of the house before Castiel had a chance to see him.

(-*-)

Castiel woke up, the room still dark thanks to the heavy shutters, he'd slept exceptionally well, better than he had for a very long time. He was however very, very hungry. He stirred, luxuriating in the feel of Egyptian cotton sheets.

Something next to him stirred too.

For a second Castiel connected the idea of a strange bed, and a strange movement beside him to the conclusion that he must have slept with a stranger.

Then he remembered that he was Castiel Novak and not Gabriel, and he sat up sharply.

The person next to him moved again, grumbling unhappily.

"You so owe me breakfast bitch." A foot nudged at Castiel in a half-hearted kick. "I got ripped up by that faggy flower thing on the wall."

Castiel did the only logical thing he could think of.

He shoved the figure, blankets and all, onto the floor, and after a seconds thought, threw the bedside clock at it.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel jumped off of the bed, backing up against the white wall and following the struggling, sheet covered figure with his eyes. There was something about being in his underwear that made the situation worse, and he cast about quickly for a robe or spare sheet.

The bed sheets on the floor heaved over to one side, exposing a man in jeans and a band shirt with a cut on his temple, he glared up at Castiel from beneath flattened brow hair.

"Who the hell are you?" Both men yell at precisely the same moment, Castiel with wide eyed fear and the other man with barely concealed hostility.

"Like you don't know – you're the one that broke in here." The other man mutters.

"I didn't – I'm staying here." Castiel tells him.

The guy frowns at him.

"Where's Sam?"

"England." Castiel informs him. "He's staying in my cottage – we traded for the holidays."

The other man looks even angrier at that.

"And he didn't even tell me? Asshole." He struggles to his feet, dabbing at his temple and flinching.

"Sorry." Castiel mutters.

"I've had worse things thrown at me." He picks up the clock. "So, you really just traded houses with my brother?"

"Yes." Castiel crosses his arms awkwardly over his torso. "I needed a vacation."

"So does he." He looks at Castiel speculatively as if trying to get the measure of him. He extends a hand. "I'm Dean – Sam's brother." He pauses, looking Castiel in the eye. "Dean Winchester."

Castiel shakes Dean's hand.

"Castiel Novak." He says pleasantly.

Dean smiles slowly, a genuine, relieved smile. "Nice to meet you." He nods at the bed. "I was trying to crash here last night...figured Sam would need the big brother treatment to get over losing his girlfriend."

Castiel wondered why the bedroom was so effeminate, a girlfriend explains that he supposes, though he's surprised Sam allowed such extravagance in the otherwise overtly tasteful house.

Then something else needles him.

"You wanted to get into bed with him?"

A red tinge mars the tanned skin of Dean's face.

"We're a close family – growing up we used to share." He says defensively.

"Ahhh." Castiel nods, looking at the floor contemplatively. "When I was younger my brother tried to sell me on eBay." He says, feeling the need to share something in return for the information he has received. "Me and my twin brother Jimmy – one item – two available."

Dean looks at him strangely, then laughs, startling himself, laughs again and claps Castiel on the shoulder.

"Could be the brain damage, but you're funny." He chuckles again. "Get some clothes on, I'll make breakfast."

It's such a swift change in subject that Castiel is left with the impression of being corralled, much as Gabriel sometimes railroaded him into coming to dinner. Still, as Dean disappears, whistling something loudly and tunefully, Castiel tells himself that there are worse things to wake up to than a strange man who wants to cook you breakfast.

(-*-)

Sam wakes up at two am to a loud banging at the door.

He sits bolt upright on the bed and the dog burrows against his side in fright. The banging continues and Sam slides out of bed in his underwear, pulls on the robe and pads downstairs to investigate, as he passes the fire place he snags a poker.

He's seen American Werewolf – nothing wrong with being careful.

The steady rain of blows on the door only increase in tempo and volume, accompanied by ill tempered hollering.

"I'm freezing my ass off out here!"

Sam pauses by the door, wondering if he should just ignore it. It might be a strange breed of English hobo, with a shotgun and a brace of pheasants in his kilt...or something.

"Cassy, I swear, if you don't open this door right now – I will take a piss right here..."

Alarmed, Sam snatches the door open, revealing a short, blond man struggling with his zipper, booted feet braced on the welcome mat as if on a cliff face.

He blinks up, (and up, and up) at Sam.

"You're not my brother." He slurs accusingly.

"No, I'm not Castiel." Sam frowns at him, wondering what the hell he should do.

"Least...if you are...that robe was really under priced...it's worked miracles." The small man continues to chatter to himself as he pushes past Sam and into the cottage, leaving Sam to shut the door and pelt after him.

"Cake!" A triumphant shout comes from the pantry and Sam goes quickly towards it, almost crashing into the smaller man, who is bearing the remaining chocolate cake aloft. He goes to the refrigerator and takes out a canister of whipped cream, spraying the cake (and the fridge, floor and counter by extension). "God I'm starving." He announces, "Would you believe that the bakery closes at five – five! But I said to myself, 'Self, Cassy always has the good stuff – always with the chocolate..." He grabs a fork from the draining board and takes a bite of cake, groaning dramatically as Sam stares like he's witnessing a murder.

"Because, you're a woman." The blond man continues. "A little love sick woman with a heap of chocolate and a dog...here Pongo! Who's a good boy!..."

The dog pads into the kitchen and looks at Sam as if to say 'This happens allllllll the time."

Sam draws on all his legal training, all his experiences of hostile witnesses and opposing lawyers. Because he knows that getting to the root of this is going to be incredibly tricky.

He shouts "Hey!" and claps his hands loudly.

Sam's shout cuts the other man's rambling short, and his looks at Sam with a shade of surprise and not a little glee.

"Who the hell are you?" Sam continues.

"Gabriel." Says Gabriel, the way Cher would say...well, Cher, Sam supposed. "The real question is, why are you in my brother's house?"

Sam blinks at him.

"Yes I know you're not him – but it was quite entertaining while it lasted." Gabriel shrugs, attacking the cake again. "My brother is shorter, skinnier and if the memories I have of our trips to the pool are correct...probably not as hung."

Sam tugs his neglected robe together with a fierce blush.

Gabriel bounces his eyebrows and sucks chocolate frosting from the fork. "Don't blush, we're all adults here." He teases. "Well...I sincerely hope we are, because otherwise this is going to get really inappropriate."

Sam's only coherent thought as Gabriel drops the fork and tugs him down into a fierce kiss, is that he probably should have drunk less before he went to bed.

As the taste of chocolate is licked into his mouth however, Sam starts to think that maybe England isn't as inhospitable as all that.

(-*-)

"I'm kinda surprised he just took off like that." Dean comments, ladling batter into a waffle iron that's probably worth more than Castiel's laptop. "He's kind of the dependable one."

"Maybe he just wanted to get away." Castiel murmurs,now dressed in black jeans and a dark blue shirt. "Relationships can do that."

"Ahh, he speaks from experience." Dean raises his eyebrows. "Who was she?"

"He..." Castiel says clearly, for he's never been one to, as he would put it, hide himself under a bushel (Gabriel called it keeping his goodies in the cookie jar – but then, he was rather obsessed with the sweet medium). "...was my boss...he still kind of is." He accepts a plate of waffles, syrup and bacon. "And he's getting married to a woman...the one he cheated on me with."

Dean whistles.

"Dick-weasel." He shakes his head, hacking at a waffle. "Sounds like a total ass."

"He's not." Castiel says quietly, feeling misery and embarrassment war in him. "He's...wonderfully intelligent, and witty and..." he looks up to find Dean looking at him with a small smile and an understanding quirk of his eyebrows.

"Still hung up on him, huh?"

"...Yes." Castiel admits.

"Hey, I've been there." Dean tells him confidentially. "I had a huge crush on this guy at school."

"And he didn't even know you existed?" Castiel surmises, having heard this kind of story before from people who claimed to understand his predicament.

"No, he was my principle." Dean shrugs. "Not anymore obviously...actually, he's not anyone's principle since the tribunal." He trails off with a frown.

Castiel blinks at him, horrified.

"Dude, joke. You are way too easy." Dean chuckles to himself, then lights up with sudden inspiration. "Hey, I should take you out today, show you around." He seems pleased with his own idea. "I was going to take Sam away for the day, cheer him up a bit, but you're just as miserable, so that works out ok."

"Umm...thank you?" Castiel says uncertainly.

"It's going to be great." Dean assures him. "I am definitely the guy to make sure that you have a good time here."


	4. Chapter 4

Sam wakes up with a mouth like the inside of a dried out coffee cup and two memories of the previous evening. The first is of being woken by an ungodly banging at a stupid hour of the morning. The second is vaguer, but most definitely contains the knowledge that he was ridden into the mattress by the small blond stranger who had also gotten cake everywhere.

He snaps his eyes open, to the fury of the hangover bear currently stomping in his skull, and looks more closely at the bedroom. It's mercifully empty, but there are crumbs all over him, and a sort of crust that he really doesn't want to think about. Because it's far too early to even try and come to terms with the fact that he had had sex with a stranger. A male stranger.

A male stranger currently singing boisterously in the kitchen downstairs.

Sam groaned and flopped over onto his face.

Alcohol, penises, cake, sex, England.

It was all very bad.

(-*-)

Castiel looked out of the window of Dean's car, wondering exactly why he was such a pushover.

A couple of theories presented themselves, living in close proximity to Gabriel all these years, being fairly bad at dealing with conflict, having the odd sensation that he was created to be the 'side man' in any given situation, rather than the lead. But, whatever the reason, he had put himself in Dean's hands as far as the days activities were concerned.

Now all he could do was pray.

Dean drove like the car was full of bees. Fast, erratically, and with a great deal of arm motion. It was a large black car, old and heavy, but other than that Castiel had no opinion of it. Dean's choice of music blares from the speakers, something hectic and fast paced with guitars and drums, again, beyond Castiel's realm of interest and experience. Dean drums along on the wheel, frowns intensely and swerves through a red light. Castiel clings to the door.

They pull up outside of an arcade, one of the old style ones Castiel remembers visiting with his brother as a child in the states. Gabriel would play on the claw machine, the driving and fighting games, and Castiel would sit in the star wars themed dark box until someone wanted to play the game there – enjoying the remote pinging sounds of cash deposits, and reading about how fruit flies are born.

Dean is already climbing out of the car.

"What are we doing here?" Castiel dares ask.

Dean grins. "Pretty much anything."

"It looks...closed." Castiel says, though the word that comes to mind is abandoned.

"It does at that." Dean looks up and frowns with mock concern. "They'll let us in though." He charges around the side, towards the staff entrance.

"Why..."

"I know the owner!" Dean yells back. "Come on, I'm so going to beat you at skeeball."

Castiel frowns. "Oh no you are not." He mutters, going after the other man.

(-*-)

"Rounds, or funny shapes?" The stranger Sam has been studiously ignoring asks from the foot of the bed. And really, Sam would keep ignoring him, even though it's rude, because they've kind of passed the point that good upbringing has prepared him for, manners wise. Except that...well, he feels crappy, and sorry for himself, and pancakes would be really nice right about now.

"Rounds." He mutters, childishly.

"Good choice." The man's footsteps retreat a little. "My mother always said, if a man's good enough to fuck, he's good enough for pancakes."

The sheets are whipped away, leaving Sam, naked and exposed to the cold air.

"She never actually voiced the opinion." The man, Gabriel, Sam remembers, continues. "But she said it with her eyebrows." He picks clothes out of Sam's suitcase, discarding plain sweaters and shirts until he comes by a T-shirt that Dean had given him with the 'Myystik Spiral' logo on it, and a pair of jeans he'd partially shrunk in the wash.

"Clothes." Gabriel says helpfully, dumping them on the bed. "Shower – then you can have pancakes."

Sam feels he should protest, and so makes a vague sound of discontent.

Gabriel slaps his ass lightly. "Now." He says sternly, and disappears downstairs."I'm not going to keep them warm." He calls back.

Sam drags himself off to the shower.

(-*-)

Castiel looks around the arcade, a dusty, sheet draped square of space, the pool and air hockey tables like altars.

He's very aware that Dean could probably kill him right now.

All the lights come on when dean snaps a few switches, machines jingle and pop with neon bright purple and green, music, decades out of date, comes from hidden speakers. Dean bounds back across the cement floor, whips a sheet from a dusty plastic table and slides a red disk towards Castiel.

"Air hockey?" He asks.

Castiel picks up the circular plastic 'bat' and slides it against the disk, propelling it back towards Dean.

They play with progressively more heat as the match continues. Castiel finds that he's quite good at it. After a while Dean starts cutting in with jokes and trash talk, and Castiel finds it oddly cheering, he even adds his own retorts in, which seem to amuse Dean.

After that they move on to the promised Skeeball, then mini-bowling, Tekan, rally driving and House of the Living Dead.

Throughout Castiel listens to Dean's cheery commentary, his cursing when he misses a shot, playfully obnoxious self congratulation when he gets his target. As they mow down the undead with pink and blue plastic pistols, Dean slaps his shoulder after a particularly well executed shot and Castiel feels oddly pleased, reminded of what his rare trips with Gabriel could have been like, if they'd been a lot more similar.

"On your left." Dean shouts, picking off a poorly graphic-ed zombie with ease. "Got your back."

Castiel reloads, shooting at the edge of the screen.

"Right back at you."

(-*-)

Sam grudgingly admits that the pancakes are ok.

Fine, so they're amazing, that still doesn't make the situation any better.

Gabriel eats his breakfast happily, and Sam's getting more and more flustered by the way the shorter man keeps 1) checking him out and 2) touching him like...like...

Ok, 'like they had sex last night' wasn't really a complaint he could make. And the memory of it is getting more and more vivid, adding to Sam's awkwardness every time he remembers being naked and...mounted. He feels all kinds of slutty and anxious and yet Gabriel is still talking to him like they met at a garden party hosted by a maiden aunt.

"Do you want more syrup?" Gabriel asks.

"Mmm? No...I'm good." Sam cuts another bite from his breakfast. "These are...really good."

"Thank you." Gabriel stacks his pancakes high and adds syrup with a flourish. "I know though." He grins.

Sam smiles half heartedly.

"Sorry...are you still freaking, about the sex thing?" Gabriel asks tactlessly.

Sam chokes on a mouthful of sponge.

"Yes, I'm guessing is the answer to that." Gabriel fills in.

Sam coughs and eventually gathers enough air to say, "I'm not freaking...I'm just...incredibly..." He catches himself. "I'm straight."

Gabriel looks at him.

"I am!" Sam insists.

Gabriel looks at him pityingly. "With that hair?"

"What's wrong with my hair?" Sam asks.

"Nothing." Gabriel smiles lewdly. "It's darling."

Sam looks down at the table.

"Ooooh...you're serious." Gabriel muses. "Oops."

"Ooops?" Sam explodes. "You burst in here, take advantage of me and now it's all 'oops'?"

Gabriel raises an eyebrow.

"First of all – you could probably break me in half." He says pointedly. "You're like a...camel to my...tiny purse dog – there's no way I could make you do anything."

Sam looks suitably chastened.

"Secondly, I was just as drunk as you, probably more so – see above re: camel." He stabs a hunk of pancake as punctuation. "Besides, it's not like I made you my bitch."

Sam kind of feels like his bitch.

He eats his pancakes quietly after that.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel leaves the arcade with a vintage panda from one of the claw machines, 'won' by Dean, who, after twelve tries at the thing, finally 'unlocked' the back of the machine with a few quick kicks.

Castiel's happy with it either way.

He's going to name him Patches.

And then deny the fact that he named a stuffed panda.

Dean is sucking on a red candy on a stick when they get back into the car.

"That was fun." Castiel says, feeling as if he should express some of his enjoyment.

"It was at that." Dean smirks, "Feel like getting a drink?"

"It's...only just noon." Castiel points out.

"Eh, I've started earlier." Dean shrugs. "Besides, Ellen's does amazing burgers."

Castiel's stomach rumbles happily at that.

Dean's still smiling as he starts the car.

(-*-)

Sam ends up saying goodbye to Gabriel at the door after they've eaten breakfast and made awkward small talk for a couple of minutes.

At least, to Sam it was awkward, Gabriel seemed in his element.

"So..." Gabriel says, turning as he reaches the front door. "Any chance of a repeat performance?"

"Uh...I don't think so." Sam says nervously, worried that he'll offend the smaller man he adds. "It was great...I'm sure but..."

"You're sure?" Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "As in...you don't remember?"

"I was...really drunk." Sam says defensively. "And the trip over here really took it out of me."

"Uh-huh." Gabriel looks him over carefully, sliding a little closer as if on oiled casters. "And you don't remember a thing."

"Not much." Sam mutters.

"Mmm...ok...let me remember for you." Gabriel stops in front of him, looking up at him speculatively. "You let me kiss you. You kissed me back. And before you dragged me upstairs...you let me get your pants off and blow you...right there on that couch." He nods his head at it. "Which I never liked, and which Castiel will now have to throw out because you came...like a sailor, with hooks for hands, on leave from a solo voyage around the catholic countries of the globe."

Sam blushes like a nuclear reactor.

"Then, upstairs, you groped me like I was your prom date, and when I finally coaxed another hard on out of you...you almost broke my ass. Literally. This morning I felt like Bambie, learning how to walk." Gabriel enunciates carefully.

Sam looks down at the floor.

"So that was not 'great'" Gabriel sighs. "It was the best sex I have ever had in my brother's house...and you are up against stiffer competition than you'd think. He throws a lot of boring dinner parties."

They stare at each other for a moment.

"Take your shirt off." Gabriel murmurs.

And Sam wouldn't even think of agreeing...if he wasn't almost too hard to stand.

(-*-)

Ellen's is not the kind of place Castiel ever goes. The bar is on the edge of town, has a gravel lot and a wooden sign bordered with fairy lights. A porch, screen doors and what might be bullet holes in the road sign nearby.

Dean barrels towards it regardless, leading Castiel by the hand.

Inside the place is slightly more polished, red vinyl booths and clean tables, a shined wood floor and a new looking pool table. A dark haired woman behind the bar raises an eyebrow as Dean comes in.

"Haven't seen you in a while." She comments.

"Well you know work – it's a bitch."

The woman rolls her eyes, picks up a beer glass and starts to fill it.

"Cas, this is Ellen, kind of mine and Sam's big sister." Under his breath he mutters. "Never Mom – you say Mom she punches you in the head." In his regular voice he adds. "Ellen this is Castiel, he switched houses with Sam for the holidays."

"Is that right." Ellen seems bored already.

"He's from England." Dean informs her with a wriggle of his eyebrows. "And I thought I'd bring him in for one of your amazing lunch specials."

Ellen raises an eyebrow. "Flattery should be a sin." She bustles off to the kitchen regardless.

Dean turns to Castiel with a smirk, offers him one of the beers. Castiel takes it.

"To your good health." Dean pronounces.

Castiel clicks their glass.

"And yours."

When the burgers come, they are indeed the best. Huge for one thing, an accompanied by good fries and crisp salads. Dean bites into his with a delighted moan and Castiel follows at a much more sedate pace, and a great deal more ketchup.

"What'd I tell you?" Dean says, through a mouthful of cheese, bacon and beef.

"It is good – amazing." Castiel confirms.

"You'll need it, big night coming up." Dean grins. "One word – karaoke."

Castiel honestly doesn't know if that's a good thing or not.

(-*-)

When Gabriel climbs off of him and flops on to the mattress, Sam is too busy gasping at the ceiling to ask any important questions like 'What does this mean?" Mainly he's focusing on the orgasm still boiling through his veins, the sweat on his skin and the worrying sensitivity of his well nibbled nipples. Still, when Gabriel, also well sheened in sweat and gasping for breath (as Sam would expect anyone to be after a ride like that) makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat and touches himself, fingers embracing the length of his still painfully hard cock, Sam acts on instinct. Let it never be said that Sam Winchester doesn't reciprocate.

Gabriel stretches out at the first touch, luxuriating like a cream fed cat on a silken bed. A few moments later, when he comes over Sam's hand he moans, a sound which turns into a surprised and appreciative laugh as he flops back onto the mattress.

"Now that...was exceptional." He huffs happily. He rolls onto his side and peeks at Sam before kissing him sleepily. "Mmm...really really something."

Sam tucks an arm around the smaller man.

This is going to give him a headache when he wakes up again.

(-*-)

Karaoke turns out to be a bit of a stretch.

Apparently Ellen lets Dean keep a console and equipment in a back room, so Castiel ends up playing something called 'Rock Band' and drinking shots of something that smells like paint stripper and candy – but which he informed is actually tequila.

So, while Dean lies upside-down on the raggy couch, squinting at the screen and playing a small plastic guitar, Castiel tries to make the room stop spinning, and to get the strumming on the plastic instrument to match the base guitar line on the screen.

He's also supposed to be singing, because, to quote Dean 'he'll hit the low notes better'. But he doesn't really know the words to 'Next Contestant' or any Nickleback song at all. Still, he's giving it his best shot.

Dean keeps losing his rhythm because he's laughing to himself, and it's making Castiel crack up too, so they stop for more shots and then try to kick the ass of 'Green Day' whilst Dean complains about their inclusion on the soundtrack. Castiel privately thinks he does 'St Jimmy' rather well, but runs out of steam (and tongue control) halfway through 'Jesus of Suburbia'.

Dean flips off of the couch awkwardly, swinging himself upright and reaching for the bottle again.

Castiel crashes out next to him, accepts another shot and downs it without choking, for the first time.

"So...this Balthazar guy." Dean asks after a couple of moments thought.

"Mmmm?" Castiel mutters.

"You really like him?"

"Yes." He sighs.

"And...he cheated on you...got engaged...and he doesn't notice you exist, when he doesn't need something?"

"...yes." Castiel mutters, blushing.

"Uh-huh." Dean says thoughtfully. "...he watch the gossip channel?"

Castiel frowns at him.

Dean waves him off vaguely. "I want another drink." He mutters.

Castiel offers the bottle.

"No...I know a good place, let's go." He gets up and finds his keys. "Don't worry – I'm sober enough."

Castiel fears that he is very much not sober enough, and he doesn't resist when Dean puts and arm around him to help him to the car, ignoring Ellen's amused look. Dean opens the door of the impala and pours Castiel inside, patting him on the ass as he gets in.

Dean drives them to a very different bar, one with a fancy name and a line outside, velvet ropes and bouncers. Not to mention all the people snapping photos of the patrons.

"Dean..." Castiel murmurs uncertainly. "This isn't really..."

"I know, it's not my thing either." Dean assures him. "but this'll just take a sec."

Dean climbs out of the car, goes round to Castiel's door and lets him out, extending his arm to support his warm, drunken weight. Dean walks him calmly to the head of the line.

"Hey Dean." The bouncer, a tall dark skinned man with a good blue suit on says. "You and your date want to go VIP this evening?"

"No, but thanks Rufus." Dean smiles amiably. "I just wanted some attention."

Rufus rolls his eyes as Dean tugs Castiel around and kisses him, sliding a hand into Cas's back pocket and squeezing his ass as he grinds against him.

Castiel is stunned for a moment, but the combination of alcohol, a day's well built trust and Dean's talent render him placated.

Almost as soon as it's begun the kiss ends, and Dean swaggers back to his car, Castiel in tow, they drive back to Sam's house, where Dean cracks open a bottle of vodka and they lose a bleary two hours together, before Dean decides he's finally too drunk to drive, and crashes out on Sam's bed, right next to Castiel.

They sleep, side by side, Dean face down and snoring, Castiel with both arms over the edge of the bed, until he is awoken by his phone, ringing with Balthazar's tune for a whole infuriating eight minutes, before it goes to voicemail and shouts,

"How the hell do you know Dean Winchester? And why are you on the cover of Heat?"


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel wakes up and makes the sound you might hear if you put a cat in a tumble dryer.

Dean flails one arm half-heartedly at him and mutters 'Shhup' into the mattress.

Castiel duly 'shhups'.

(-*-)

Sam wakes up and jerks away from Gabriel so fast that he rolls over twice and falls off of the bed.

Gabriel slits one eye open.

"Coffee." He demands sleepily.

Sam bundles himself upright, grabbing a sheet for dignities sake. Not that he has much of that left now after the second time he'd...and then, when he'd woken in the middle of the night to Gabriel...

No dignity. None whatsoever.

"Actually...you should get up." Sam mutters, a lack lustre attempt at ousting the man from the bed and from the house in general.

"But I made breakfast yesterday." Whines the bundled up figure on the bed, misunderstanding him, possibly deliberately. "Besides, I can't walk." Gabriel peers out at him suggestively. "Seriously, come check me over."

Sam blushes and reluctantly heads for the kitchen, trailing his sheet behind him.

(-*-)

Castiel summons all his strength and rolls onto his back, opening one eye.

"Ow."

"...sorry." He mutters.

"Dude, you're on my hand."

"I said sorry..." Castiel closes his eye. "Leave me alone. I'm dying."

Dean mutters mutinously, but goes back to sleep.

(-*-)

Sam brings Gabriel his coffee, choosing for the moment to ignore the fact that he's remembered exactly how he likes it after only a day (lots of cream and sugar – only a quarter actual coffee). Gabriel wriggles upright and 'mmm's' happily over the mug, like a puppy with a biscuit.

"No pastries?" Gabriel sighs. "Savage country."

"No offence." Sam says, gearing himself up to deliver what he is sure is going to be an offensive statement. "But...uh...after the coffee, I think you should..."

"Go?" Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "Vamoose, scarper, skedaddle, clear off, sling the proverbial..." He smirks. "hook?" He shakes his head. "Check out the balls on you – use me, then cast me out into the cold like a Victorian orphan."

Sam looks down at the floor. He is so not good at this. Casual hook ups were kind of Dean's thing, and somehow he always managed the morning afters with just a little bit of grace and delicacy.

(-*-)

Dean rolls over awkwardly, sprawling over Castiel before twisting sideways and sending them both to the floor with a surprised squeak from the smaller man.

(-*-)

Gabriel takes the 'ousting' rather well, getting dressed whilst keeping up a light and airy atmosphere. At the front door he turns serious, shakes Sam's hand amicably and says 'Well Sammy, thanks for the good time, you were awesome." with a grin, before sauntering off into the snow covered countryside.

Sam shuts the door and looks around the cottage, wondering why it suddenly seems so quiet.

He gets out the books he'd bought to read on his long overdue vacation, reads three pages without paying much attention and then goes upstairs to air out the bedroom and change the sheets. Then he calls Dean, gets no reply and puts his phone away, taking up the books once more.

At last, he had time to relax.

(-*-)

Dean's cell phone rings somewhere, distantly, from the pocket of his jacket.

"Cold." Castiel complains sleepily from his position half buried under Dean, sandwiched between him and the floor.

Dean drags the duvet down from the bed, letting it fall limply over them.

"Better." Sighs Castiel, and promptly falls back to sleep.

(-*-)

Sam is going out of his mind with boredom.

His books are just not holding his attention. There's nothing to watch on television, he has no internet access, Dean still won't answer his phone and there are only so many games of Tetris he can play on his cell without going crazy.

The exact number is 44 and a third.

So it is that Sam finds himself borrowing a knitted hat and scarf from Castiel's limited wardrobe, and bundling up in jeans and a sweater to venture out into the snow and go for a walk.

There certainly is a lot of snow. Some trees, hedges, fields...it's nice, open, and natural. And completely boring. Sam had always thought he needed to take some time off of work occasionally and go out to experience the countryside, but really he wasn't missing much, if his quick tour of the lane by the cottage was any indication. He half shuffles, half skids, down the frozen road until he spots lights on in a large building. There's music to accompany the yellow glow, low volume pop from a radio, and he can smell food cooking – meat and fried potato.

Above the building, Sam spots a wooden sign on a long arm, The Rose and Crown pub.

His stomach rumbles, reminding him that he's done a lot of what he's going to charitably call 'exercise' on very little food. Sam kicks his way through the snow and lets himself into the pub, finding it almost completely different to every bar he's ever been to, except for maybe Ellen's. It's warm and comfy with brown leather couches and a wooden floor, exposed beams and bits of brass farming equipment on the walls and ceiling. Sam, feeling rather self conscious of his accent and inappropriate clothing, orders a beer at the bar, finding himself presented with a bewildering array of local varieties. He walks away with a pint of dark liquid and a menu.

Sam disentangles his scarf and takes off his hat, shaking snow off of his hair and trying not to blush under the curious stares of those around him. He scans the menu instead, wondering whether Dean will somehow sense it if he eats red meat, he doesn't think he can handle the teasing about his sudden lapse in dietary control. To be fair, he's already had a lot of cake, the flood gates are open, he might as well enjoy it.

"Mine's a rum and coke."

Sam looks up and nearly jumps out of his skin.

Gabriel picks up a menu.

"And the least you can do is buy me dinner." He continues, then frowns. "And maybe find me a cushion for this chair."

(-*-)

"Dean?"

"Mmm?"

"Dean...I have to use the bathroom."

"Go ahead." Dean grumbles, trying to grope his way back into sleep.

Something rocks him slightly, then wriggles in a way that he would appreciate if his brain wasn't currently staffed by evil weasels that wished him pain.

"You're on me." Castiel huffs.

"Mmm?"

"I can't get up if you're on me." Castiel explains patiently, with his irritating logic.

Dean sighs heavily and rolls to one side, allowing Castiel to scramble up and pick his way across the gloomy room to the bathroom.

"Hey...Cas?"

"Yes?" Castiel replies, after a long pause from the bathroom.

"Why the hell am I on the floor?" Dean groans.

"You put us there." Castiel tells him, wandering back into the room and sitting back down on the floor.

"Huh." Dean screws up his eyes and glares up at the ceiling. "I don't think I want to get up."

Castiel lies back down next to him, snaffling some of the duvet and hunkering down against Dean's prostrate body.

"Good."


	7. Chapter 7

Dean wakes up alone on the floor. For a moment he wonders if the past day, meeting Castiel, the arcade, the drinking (oh so much drinking) and the pleasant sensation of sleeping against another person's warm, hung-over body, was all a really vivid dream.

Then a mug of coffee is plunked down by his face, raising a valiant flag of steam to tweak his nostrils.

"God bless you, sweet master." Dean mutters hoarsely, a quote from some movie he can't remember.

Castiel sits down on the floor, his own mug in hand.

"We need to talk."

"About?" Dean levers himself up and takes a huge mouthful of hot coffee.

"About you, Dean. And Mystik Spiral."

Dean chokes down the scalding liquid and looks sheepishly down at the floor.

"We're thinking of changing the name." He mutters.

Castiel sighs.

"How did you find out?" Dean asks.

"Your little stunt made the front page of four gossip magazines in the UK alone." Castiel shows him the image on his laptop. "I have over a hundred messages on my phone from people who saw it yesterday."

"Is he jealous?" Dean murmurs, smirking just slightly.

Castiel flushes just a little. "Yes."

"Are you happy?"

"Very."

"Good." Dean stretches and looks down at the laptop. "So, what does google have to say about me?"

Castiel clicks on a separate tab.

"Dean Winchester, lead guitar for Mystik Spiral, which produces mostly country music. Formed in Lawrence, Kansas, on the success of your first album you moved out here. Last three albums places high in the charts, thematically concerned with God and America... " Castiel barely contains a smirk. "Apple pie and slow motion stars and stripes."

Dean frowns, mouth twisting wryly. "Makes me sound like a total asshole."

"Or a sell out." Castiel soothes him.

"I am that." Dean rolls his eyes. "And I've got the house and the pool to prove it."

Castiel closes the laptop.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asks. "I mean...when you woke up here, you thought I'd broken in for you – not for Sam. And then you found out I had no idea who you were...why not just..."

"Leave?" Dean shrugs. "I don't get to hang out with many people who don't know who I am...or, actually, anyone who isn't my brother." He sighs. "Usually I try to avoid new people, pandering assholes that they are, and just...L.A. man, it's all phonies and fake tits." He catches himself "and... I'm a cliché. Woe is me, I'm famous and it sucks." He gulps coffee again.

"So...if we start again, what is it that you'd want to tell me?" Castiel asks.

"You're not mad I lied to you?" Dean looks at him uncertainly.

"You had your reasons. But...no. No I'm not mad." Castiel smiles slightly.

"Ok..." Dean thinks for a second. "The honest to crap, straight up truth?...I own this house, I bought it for Sammy when he was just starting out and I wanted to spoil him. We grew up in the asshole end of nowhere and I wanted the very best I could afford. We used to live here together before I got my own place." Dean pauses, thinks for a moment. "The arcade from yesterday? I bought that after the second album went platinum. I love arcades and me and Sam used to have so much fun there, and they were going to tear it down and build a Wendy's. Same with Ellen's bar – I bought that when her husband passed, she was in a lot of debt so I bought her out and let her keep the joint."

"And that's all?" Castiel asks. "You sing country music, and you own a lot of stuff?"

Dean's eye flicker. "I'm not so deep you know." He huffs.

Castiel is about to push it, then reconsiders – he doesn't really know Dean after all. They've barely hung out.

"Ok." He says instead. "What do you want to do today?"

Dean grins at him.

"You still want to do stuff?" He frowns. "This isn't because..."

"It's not because of what I know now." Castiel says levelly. "The last two days have been fun...that's why I'm here. To have fun." He looks down at his hands, picks at his nails. "Besides, you're a good..." He pauses.

"Friend." Dean finishes pointedly.

"I wasn't sure I should..."

"Dude, we killed shit together." Dean claps him on the arm. "We're friends." He gets up and motions Castiel to his feet. "And today, we are going to make your Brit friend rue the day he cheated on you."

(-*-)

"Hey look, it happened again." Gabriel says redundantly, peering down at their naked bodies. "Sammy, I'm surprised at you." He chides.

"How..." Sam shuts his mouth with an audible click. There is no point, absolutely no point in questioning how they ended up in bed together for the third time in two days. Clearly there's a mysterious British energy emanating from under the house, electro-magnetism or something, that is scrambling his brain and making him susceptible to the wiles of small, American, men.

Just go with that Sam, his internal Dean smirks. Whatever helps you sleep at night, on top of said American man. Yeah, you're totally straight.

I was planning to. He snaps back. And shut up.

The Dean voice shuts up.

"You have to admit." Gabriel muses, hopping out of bed and finding his clothes scattered on the floor. "At this point you are looking pretty easy."

"I'm not easy." Sam mutters, hunting for his own clothing.

"Oh Reeeeally." Gabriel drawls. "So far, you've slept with me on three separate occasions – once because I showed up at the door, once because I was already in the house, and then again last night because we happened to be in the same Pub." He raises an eyebrow. "Hardly picky, are you?"

"You came on to me." Sam argues.

Gabriel 'psh's' this away with a wave of his hand. "I come on to everyone, men, women, massage chairs, cars with unusually poor transmissions..."

Sam goes into the bathroom, washing himself briskly before putting on his underwear, he goes back into the bedroom.

"...civil servents, waitresses, bank tellers, cold callers, my member of parliament..." Gabriel is still reeling off.

"Enough!" Sam snaps. "Just...it's not happening again. So...please leave."

Gabriel looks at him pointedly.

"My pants are entrapped on the ceiling fan."

(-*-)

Castiel has never paid that much attention to his clothes before.

He has mostly button downs, mostly blue or grey. Black dress pants, a few dark suits and T-shirts that he wears to clean house or on lazy mornings.

Apparently, there's a great deal he's been missing.

Dean's big plan for that day was to take him shopping, outfitting him with better clothes and maybe a haircut, so that he can make Balthazar just a little more jealous when he goes back to England. Speaking of Balthazar, Castiel has listened to his messages and he has to admit that the other man is definitely concerned with how he came to be in the company of one of America's most influential musicians.

He's ever so slightly pleased with the shock and accusation in Balthazar's voice. Let him be in the dark for a while.

Except, Castiel kind of wants to call him back. Just to talk to him.

That wouldn't hurt, would it? He can still get over him, he just needs to hear his voice.

Castiel snaps himself out of his questioning daze just as a clerk appears with a tray of coffee and small cakes.

The best thing about this shopping trip had to be the service. They were in a boutique that Dean apparently came to often, and Castiel was being showered with attention simply for being with him. (Castiel had never actually seen 'Pretty Woman' but if he had he probably would have been making certain connections – or at least humming the music.).

His new hair is strange and artfully mussed, and the clothing Dean pointed out is all black and various kinds of blue and charcoal, exactly as Castiel likes, but it's...sleeker, more modern and probably a whole lot more expensive.

Castiel had initially tried to put Dean off, saying that he'd pay for everything himself, but Dean had shrugged and said that he'd only buy more cars with the money, so why not put it to good use. Which had given Castiel pause for thought.

One of the clerks is talking to Dean in the corner, and he hands him a piece of paper, smiling professionally. Dean shakes his hand, and Castiel catches the flicker of a green bill between their fingers. Then Dean comes to sit beside him.

He whistles, low and long.

"Looking sharp." He comments.

Castiel flushes, wishing he wasn't always so self conscious.

"Aren't you getting anything?" he asks politely.

"Nope." Dean has put the piece of paper in his pocket, but Castiel looks at it anyway, and Dean follows his glance. "Oh, that's just a delivery I have coming. I go through a lot of stuff on tours. It gets 'lost' - probably up on eBay right now."

Castiel nods like this is totally normal. "Thank you, for this by the way...I have no idea how I can pay you back."

Dean waves a hand. "Don't worry about it." He smirks. "Besides, you look amazing."

Castiel thinks he might actually be turning scarlet.

Dean chuckles to himself.

"So...new and improved Cas." He smirks. "What now?"

(-*-)

Sam shows Gabriel firmly to the door, on the lookout for any Jedi mind tricks that might prompt another night of unmentionable activities.

"Well, Sam, it's been fun." Gabriel smirks from the doorstep. "We should do this again, some time before you go back home to...wherever giants are made."

Sam really tries not to smile. He almost manages it.

"Seriously." Gabriel hands him a scrap of paper. "Call me."

And then he's gone, and Sam is left with an address, phone number, and a very bad Dean-esque idea.


	8. Chapter 8

"You are going to love this place." Dean says, striding off through the lobby and on into the building, "Best. Steak. Ever." He shouts as he gets further away. "Are you coming?"

"I thought..." Castiel hovers by Dean's front door. "I can wait here."

"Naw, come on up." Dean's boots strike the stairs several rooms away. "I just need to get changed, not quite up to the dress code."

Castiel looks around the place, it's huge, and that's just the entry way. It's all hardwood floors as far as he can see, and there's a chandelier over his head, plus several genuine paintings that look vaguely similar to some he saw in the paper being auctioned in London. Castiel follows the sounds of Dean's distant movements, through two rooms of antique furniture and modern, expensive leather couches, and up a broad staircase to the second floor.

"Dean?" He calls out.

"In here." Dean shouts back. "I'm decent, don't worry."

Castiel looks at the framed photos on the wall, pictures of Dean and another, taller man. Perhaps his brother? And a few of Dean and a group of men that must be his band. Framed records and pictures of awards nights form the basis of the rest of the collection. Castiel looks up and finds that a similar style of decor has been applied all along the staircase, right up to the fourth floor (the fact that Dean has a fourth floor is kind of galling).

All in all it's what he expected of Dean's house, quality, expense, and a small slice of ego. He's almost disappointed without knowing way, like he'd wanted Dean to surprise him.

He goes through a slightly open door and finds himself in a bedroom, realising almost instantly that he's made a mistake. Not only is Dean not in the room, but this is clearly a woman's dressing room.

There's a vanity table and a large dressing mirror, a sunken bath in the centre of a marble platform, the carpet in the rest of the room is plush and white. Castiel glances left and spots a closet. He's a little...curious, Dean hasn't mentioned a girlfriend or a wife, so he had thought him a bachelor. But clearly his isn't.

Castiel approaches the closet, a large walk-in one with an ornate door. Opening it he finds himself in a room almost as large as the dressing room. Outfits are hung all around in neat rows, and in the centre is a large table displaying jewellery and accessories. The back wall is just a rack of shoes, pairs upon pairs of expensive looking heels and boots.

Clearly whoever owned the room was a very lucky lady.

Castiel turns and catches sight of a framed picture on the dressing table. He crosses the soft carpeting and looks at it. It's an image captured at an odd moment, its subject not aware of its being taken. The woman has been caught half turned away and in the act of moving, so her straight blond hair is flying out, one half of her mouth visible, grinning, one eye twinkling at someone out of shot. She's very beautiful, and Castiel is quite envious of her for her easy charm, for how she seems completely at ease.

"What are you doing in here?"

Castiel jumps, turning guiltily to see Dean standing in the doorway.

"Sorry...I was looking for you...I think I got lost."

Dean seems more worried than actually angry. He glances around the room, looking for anything out of place.

"I didn't touch anything." Castiel tells him.

Dean deflates. "No, obviously not. Sorry for being...the door's just supposed to be locked. That's all."

"No, I get it." Castiel shrugs. "Privacy's kind of important to me too...plus...I don't think your wife would like me being in here."

A strange look goes over Dean's face, almost like he's torn between laughing and yelling.

"I don't have a wife." He waves a hand derisively at the room. "This is all just...Brandy's stuff."

"Oh...ok." Castiel glances around him. "She has good taste."

Dean looks at him, and bursts out laughing.

"You're one weird little dude, you know that?"

"People keep telling me." Castiel shrugs.

Dean chuckles to himself, but Castiel notices that he locks the door behind them.

(-*-)

Sam is walking all the way to Gabriel's house, in the snow.

Now, to the untrained eye, this might actually look like he wanted to see the other man. But Sam was adamant that he was only going there to...

Well, Sam's logic had a few holes in it, and by holes, it should be inferred that the logic began and ended with, 'I am walking.' With Sam refusing to consider to where he was walking, and more importantly to whom he was walking.

He kind of also wished he'd thought to rent a car.

Sam kicked on through the snow, beneath the night sky, his breath rising in long, uneven white clouds. He had bundled himself up in a thick sweater, jeans, his hat and scarf, and a pair of rubber boots he'd found in a closet, which were far too small.

Gabriel's house was on the opposite side of the village, as isolated as Castiel's own, but in the complete, opposite direction. Sam had long since left the village lights behind and now it was nothing but dark countryside and twisting lanes lined with snow as far as the eye could see.

Not for the first time, Sam asked himself what the hell he was doing.

You know, aside from performing the age old right of the 'booty call' as his inner Dean had snickered about an hour ago.

Which wasn't even close to the truth, Sam just wanted someone, anyone, to talk to.

And if that person was the same one who'd offered fantastic sex and pretty great pancakes, well then that was ok too.

And if that person was a guy, that didn't change anything. That didn't make him gay.

It makes you a little gay. Dean mutters.

"No it doesn't." Sam says out loud.

Hey, at least you're a top. Inner Dean consoles him. This would be freaking you out way faster otherwise.

Sam grudgingly concedes defeat.

His walk towards uncertain reception is interrupted when his phone suddenly finds a few bars of signal and the real-life Dean calls him.

"Hey, Sam."

"Dean." Sam can't actually feel his fingers. He's starting to feel like a polar explorer. Someone cheers in the background of the call. "Where are you?"

"Out. That restaurant with the huge grill?...oh and – Why the hell are you in England?" He thunders.

"I'm on vacation, I meant to call." Sam mutters, wondering if there were still wolves in England, and, if there were, whether they make sounds like the one emanation from the hedge in front of him.

"No, it's cool. Just don't tell me anything, why should I care right?" Dean grumbles.

"I should have told you, I was just...kind of in a hurry to get out of town."

There's a worried little pause.

"Did you kill Ruby? Is she under the floor somewhere?"

"No I didn't kill her." Sam rolls his eyes, mainly to stop them frosting over. "Anyway, you've been to the house, you would have..." he remembers. "Did you freak Castiel out?"

Dean's silence lasts a little longer.

"No...well, he threw something at me, but we're cool now."

Alarm bells start to ring for Sam.

"When you say 'cool' you mean..."

"We've been hanging out." Dean says, defensiveness creeping into his voice.

"Please...please...please, don't sleep with him." Sam begs.

"I don't sleep with everyone." Dean exclaims hotly.

"Yeah, you do." Sam bursts out. "I've had to hire new maids, a new gardener, specify a new UPS guy, change my drycleaners...you've slept with my friends, my boss, my life is one awkward cavalcade of your one-night-stands."

"I am not that bad!"

"My mail man dude." Sam glowers into the dark.

"...shut up."

"So, seriously, leave Castiel alone. Let just one acquaintance escape unmolested."

"Uh..."

"You didn't."

"No...not yet." Dean's voice conveys the nervous grin that Sam has come to know well. "But...well, when I said I was at the restaurant...I'm not exactly here alone."

Sam kicks some snow aside with more force than necessary. Then something occurs to him.

"You took him out to dinner?" he asks. "Like, an actual date-type...dinner?"

"Yeah." Dean says brazenly. "I can't eat with people?"

"You don't usually." Sam points out. "Hell, the mailman didn't get to finish his rounds."

"Well, maybe I like doing things with Cas."

Sam mouths the nickname incredulously.

"You mean you've done other stuff?" He asks delicately.

"Well...yeah." He can imagine Dean rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "We went to the arcade...Ellen's...my place..."

"You let him into your house?"

"So?" Dean asks petulantly.

"So...you never take anyone home, Dean, that's rule one."

"Yeah well...rule one was kind of pissing me off." Dean mutters. "Shit, I have to go, he's coming back."

"Dean!" Sam shouts to get his attention.

"Shit, what?"

"Don't tell him."

"About...?" But Dean knows exactly what he's talking about.

"You're going all...crazy over him, and just...don't tell him, ok? Not about Brandy, not 'till you're sure."

Dean is silent for a moment.

"I'm not going crazy..."

"Oh you so are." Sam snaps his phone shut.

Sam 1, Dean 0.

Unfortunately the score is also, Snow 1, Sam 0 – he might actually be about to lose some fingers.

It's just lucky then, that as he turns the next corner in the lane, a house appears. A neat little two windows up, two down house, with a warm yellow glow in the downstairs panes. Sam matches the address to the brass number on the door and knocks, gingerly.

The door opens, revealing a very surprised looking Gabriel, dressed in a fluffy red Christmas sweater and jeans.

"Sam." He blurts, then just stands there looking at him.

It's at this point that Sam realises he's officially crazy.

"I just ummm..." He struggles and then decides that no lie will be believed. "I wanted to see you." He sighs. "I was a little...I guess I'm confused about this whole thing...I mean I've never been with a...guy before and I just got out of a long-term...thing...so...I don't know why but...but I missed you, so now I'm here."

"Oh." Gabriel mutters. "That's umm...really, really great to here but...this is uh...not really a great time..."

Glass chinks in the house beyond, music is playing.

"Sorry..." Sam backs away a little. "I should have guessed you'd have someone...here...so...yeah. Just me being an idiot." He turns to go.

"Sam..." Gabriel takes half a step forwards and a small face peers around his waist.

"Daddy, who's that man?" Asks a little voice, and another face appears next to the first, both children wearing identical pigtails and sporting maniacal butterfly face paint.

And ok, Sam thinks, so things are officially complicated.


	9. Chapter 9

"This is Sam, he's one of Uncle Cas's friends." Gabriel says neutrally. "He's having a holiday at the cottage."

"Hello Sam!" Bugles one girl.

" 'Lo" the other one murmurs shyly.

"This is Cookie, and Ginger..." Gabriel pats each child's head gently. "What did you two do with Peaches?"

"She's trying to find the marshmallows for the chocolate." Cookie pipes.

"Ahhh." Gabriel looks up at Sam, considering, then he looks down at the two munchkin faces.

"Why don't you go set out a cup for Sam?"

The two girls bound off into the house, calling wildly to each other about which mug they should take out.

Sam's smiles lasts until the girls are gone, then he feels it crack and drop from his face.

"Daddy?" He asks incredulously.

"Yes." Gabriel looks at him pleasantly. "I'm...Daddy."

Sam looks at him, aghast. "Are you married?"

Gabriel looks at the ground.

"Oh, holy fu..." Sam backs away. "You were married...this whole time?"

"I'm a widower." Gabriel says quietly.

Sam is silent, not knowing what to say.

Gabriel stands to one side, holding the door open. "Come and have some hot chocolate with us, you're freezing."

Sam enters the house, and it's like walking into Santa's grotto. The light cast from the hall chandelier is warm and yellow and it strikes sparkles from glitter and bauble laden Christmas garlands, candy canes and gingerbread men are strung along the stair rail and there's an enormous Christmas tree on one side of the entry way, standing guard over a pile of gold and red wrapped gifts.

Gabriel catches Sam's eye.

"We love Christmas. Kind of a leftover from being a kid, Gabriel is big news around December." He half smiles. "Cassy doesn't have a holiday, so we gave him New Years."

Sam follows dumbly as Gabriel leads him to the kitchen. Here three girls are making a mess of chocolate curls and an open packet of marshmallows.

"Stand down." Gabriel raises his hands and the girls sit in their respective chairs obediently, giggling. They're all under about six years old, and Sam can now see the differences between them. Cookie is the eldest, her pigtails the same honey-blond as Gabriel's hair, the other two have black, curly locks, and Peaches has a small birthmark on her cheek.

While Gabriel makes hot chocolate, Sam sits with the three girls and marvels that they even exist. Gabriel does not seem the fatherly type, or at least, he hadn't before. Now Sam is having trouble not accepting it as completely natural. Gabriel is so at ease in his role.

Sam shakes himself, he cannot, will not, care about this stranger.

Even if his kids are utterly adorable.

Gabriel passes mugs round and sits down next to Sam.

"Peaches has more marshmallows than me." Cookie complains.

"No she doesn't, you each have five." Gabriel sing-songs. He nudges Sam. "You have five too."

Sam can't not return his smile.

"I get six because I'm fantastic." Gabriel says conspiratorially.

"Can we show Sam our shop afterwards?" Peaches asks shyly.

"If Sam has time." Gabriel says softly, tapping a marshmallow down into his hot drink with the tip of his finger.

"I'd like that." Sam tells the beaming, butterfly faced child.

"I bet he'll let you paint him too." Gabriel confides in Ginger.

Under the table, Gabriel's knee touches his, Sam looks at him, and shifts a little closer.

Ok, so maybe he's a little gay, and he's got the marshmallows to prove it.

(-*-)

Castiel wakes up next to Dean and wonders when this ceased to be a novelty and became the comfortable reality of his mornings.

They're in Dean's house, in the master bedroom, on a huge square bed with incredibly comfy and probably very expensive sheets. Castiel looks up at the canopy over their heads and feels a pang of regret, he'll be back in his cottage soon, and all of this will fade like a glamorous dream.

Dean grunts in his sleep and rolls over, pressing against Castiel's side, one arm going around his waist.

Castiel is going to miss waking up next to someone warm and friendly. Not that Pongo isn't a wonderful companion, but he wasn't much cop at conversation.

Though he and Dean had drool in common.

He reflects that at least they managed to get undressed for bed this time, rather than falling asleep drunkenly in their clothes. Castiel's new clothes are folded on the chaise lounge on the other side of the room, Dean's are strewn over the floor. They're both sleeping in their underwear, and Castiel is luxuriating in the feel of silky sheets on his bare skin.

It takes him about five minutes to register that he's in bed with a practically naked man, who's holding him very closely, and is, to put it mildly, insanely hot.

And after that his penis isn't in a hurry to let go of the idea.

It's definitely one of the most embarrassing situations he's been in, though it's still pipped to the post by hearing Gabriel having rampant sex with one of Castiel's friends, whilst Castiel was still trying to conduct the dinner party to which they'd both been invited.

Castiel wriggles uncomfortably and Dean rumbles in his sleep.

"Bathroom's at the end of the hall." He mutters.

Castiel feels himself tense and turn instantly beet red with embarrassment.

Dean chuckles into the pillow and pats Castiel's stomach amiably.

"Take all the time you want." He shoves at Castiel lightly, before rolling over the climbing out of bed himself.

"Where are you going?" Castiel asks politely, wondering if Dean wants him to make use of the bathroom and then go home.

"En suite." Dean yawns, padding to the adjoining bathroom.

And if Castiel was blushing before, he's practically a blaring stoplight as the bathroom door closes at Dean's back.

(-*-)

The girl's shop is a bakery.

Sam stands in the doorway, and in awe, as they explain the various parts of it. The whole thing is built out of plywood and painted to look like a French patisserie, there are painted and varnished clay cakes in the tiny window display and an actual menu on the menu board.

If Sam had been a girl he would have been insanely jealous.

Hell, when Peaches shows him the tiny kitchen, complete with miniature equipment and an easy-bake oven, Sam is already feeling like his childhood was severely deprived. Because, hey, Dean got a guitar when he was eight – where was Sam's easy-bake oven?

"Did you make all this?" Sam asks, as the girls go to find face paints.

"I've been known to do of the DIY on occasion." Gabriel says mildly, examining his fingernails, he looks up and smiles. "They wanted to come to work with me, so this was the compromise."

"You work in a bakery?"

Gabriel looks surprised. "I didn't mention that?"

"You didn't mention anything." Sam tells him. "Pretty much the only thing I know about you is your preferred kind of underwear."

Gabriel rolls his eyes.

"Well, I own the bakery in the village." He informs him.

"The crappy one that shuts at five?"

"How dare you!" Gabriel exclaims, wounded.

"You said it, not me." Sam shrugs.

"When?"

"When you were drunk, that first time."

Gabriel screws up his face in concentration.

"Ooooh." He snaps his fingers. "That explains all the beer bottles by the front door." She shrugs. "I guess I'm just a cake seeking missile."

Sam chuckles.

The girls return, bearing their face paints aloft.

Gabriel smirks.

"Now, do you want to be a butterfly, or a pretty princess?" He asks seriously.

"Can I be a tiger?" Sam asks hopefully.

"Princess!" Cookie tugs at Gabriel's sleeve.

"The artists have spoken." Gabriel says with faux heaviness. "Let the princessing commence."

While Sam sits very still, allowing three girls to paint him a cupids bow mouth and a beauty spot, Gabriel stands off to the side and mouths 'We'll talk later.' Over his daughters heads.

Sam gives him a thumbs up.

Cookie positions a pointed hat with a trailing silk banner on his head.

Twenty four hours ago, Sam would have laid money that this wouldn't be the thing he and Dean had in common.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean drives Castiel home, stopping on the way to get a bag of breakfast from his favourite diner. Castiel sits in the comfortable front seat of the car, watching the city fly by and feeling intensely awkward.

After about twenty minutes, Dean sighs and punches him lightly on the knee.

"Dude, I've been on tour with the band four times." He huffs a laugh to himself. "That's more naked, hairy assed men and awkward erections than most people have ever seen."

Castiel glances at him sideways, Dean nods sagely.

"Also, I get thrown up on all the time, and nothing you do drunk will ever be as bad as you think it is."

"Good to know." Castiel opens the breakfast bag tentatively and snags a strip of warm bacon, nibbling it surreptitiously.

"Hey, share." Dean nudges him and Castiel plucks out another strip of perfectly fried meat, hesitating a second before raising it to Deans mouth and letting the other man take it with his teeth.

"That is good." Dean mutters. "I swear I would live off of that stuff if I didn't have to do all the covers and posters and...whatever else it is that they slap my face on."

Castiel licks bacon grease off of his fingers.

Dean is momentarily distracted.

"It must be weird, being seen all the time like that." Castiel says contemplatively.

"Mmm?...oh, yeah...well it kind of sucks, but, gives me a reason to keep up with exercise and...Rabbit food." He shakes his head. "Sam on the other hand, he barely dates and he's all uptight about GI and organic and...other stuff that I may have tuned out."

Castiel laughs quietly.

Dean glances at him, noting that the guy seems a hell of a lot happier now than he had a few days previously.

"So...did you hear from Balthazar yet?" He finds himself asking.

Castiel lowers his eyes.

"I left me some voice mail...I didn't call back."

"Why not?" Dean has no idea why his mouth is suddenly going off unsanctioned, but he can't stop it now.

"Well...I don't want to talk to him until I'm over him." Castiel murmurs. "Besides...I've been busy."

"If I'm keeping you from anything..." Dean feels a stab of awkwardness.

"No...I've been having fun." Castiel snags another piece of bacon from the bag, the car having ground to a halt in early weekend traffic. "More fun than I've had since...college, I guess." He glances at Dean, "Gabriel dragged me out to every party he could find and talk his way into...I've never been that good at meeting people or...doing things. I prefer my own company."He pauses, frowns. "That makes me sound like I'm a hermit..."

"No, I get it." Dean angles himself towards Castiel, giving up on the idea that the cars ahead are going to move any time soon. "We all have things we'd rather be doing, they're just...not what we're meant to do. The world doesn't work like that."

Castiel smiles at him, pleased it seems that Dean understands.

Dean looks out at the cars ahead of them.

"This is...kind of insane." He remarks, glaring at the cars in the next lane, which are flowing freely. "Want to park up somewhere and eat before we try and get back to your place?"

"That would be nice." Castiel says politely, as his stomach snarls angrily under his shirt. He looks vaguely alarmed, Dean smothers a laugh.

It's not until they've ducked out of the traffic, securing a spot in a lay-by where they can park and eat, that Dean realises he'd said 'your place' and not 'Sam's'. He reminds himself that soon Castiel is leaving, and what with him being still hung up on his ex, Dean knows he has absolutely no hope of making a move.

Still, when they finish breakfast, he suggests that they hang out at Sam's, making use of the entertainment room to watch some movies.

And when Castiel agrees, Dean feels happier than he ever thought he could at the prospect of any evening that didn't involve sex.

(-*-)

Gabriel looks at Sam critically.

"You really do look like my aunt Sadie."

Sam frowns.

"And now Neanderthal Barbie." Gabriel grins.

They're sitting in Gabriel's bedroom, on Gabriel's bed, the girls having been wooed into their respective rooms by the promise of smiley pancakes for breakfast. Sam is thankfully now free of the princess hat, but the face paint is still very much present. Gabriel grudgingly hands him a wet wash cloth and Sam attempts to clean his face.

"Now you're more like a Picasso in the rain." Gabriel says thoughtfully.

"Cut it out." Sam frowns.

"Why Miss, such harsh language." Gabriel puts a hand over his heart as if wounded. "What would the Countess say?"

"Now there's a countess?"

"There's always a countess, and if you can't see one, that means it's you." Gabriel tells him.

Sam smiles, then starts trying to clean the red paint from his lips. While methodically ridding himself of decoration, Sam glances around the room, taking in the chaos of clothing over the chair in the corner, the cookery books on the bedside table, and the bag of knitting underneath it.

"You knit?"

Gabriel shoots a betrayed glare at the bag of wool and needles.

"I don't...not...knit." he mutters.

"Awww." Sam chuckles.

Gabriel punches his arm.

"Ow." Both men mutter simultaneously, Sam flinching back, Gabriel nursing his knuckles.

They sit in silence, until the pain is removed from Sam's face, leaving behind a faint stain of red lipstick and the shadow of a beauty spot.

But there is no way in hell Gabriel is telling him that.

Instead, the shorter man sighs, and props himself up against the headboard.

"I guess this is the part where I explain my unnatural fertility?"

Sam sets the wash cloth aside. "Only if...well, I know I'm not really anyone important..."

"Hard as it may be for you to believe, I don't sleep with just anyone who happens to turn up here." Gabriel says, raising an eyebrow. "And so far, no one's turned up, half frozen, at my home, to tell me that they were in love with me."

"I didn't say..." Sam protests.

"Oh I'm sorry – you like me, like, like me like me..." Gabriel says in a bad approximation of a teenage girl. "I'm summarising." He says demurely.

Sam glares at him.

"Anyway..." Gabriel continues. "I'm...well, a Dad, clearly." He rolls his eyes at himself. "I was married, for about three months, seven years ago."

"Three months?"

"Well, I am gay, that kind of threw a wrench into things." Gabriel frowns. "But...we were really good friends, who had sex...and it lasted through college, so I proposed. And Candy said yes..."

"Candy?"

"She was a stripper." Gabriel looks at him blankly.

"Ok...continue." Sam isn't sure if he's dreaming this whole thing, alone in LA somewhere. But he's prepared to see it though.

"Anyway, we got married. And after about a month I had my big gay panic." Gabriel shrugs. "We'd never really been exclusive, in fact, before I proposed we were kind of a threesome with this guy called Mark." He frowns. "No idea what happened to him...anyway...I realised pretty fast that I was at least a little...incredibly gay, and we decided to get divorced."

"Just like that?"

"Well, it was Vegas." Gabriel waves a hand. "It's a lot less complicated, less stigma there." He clicks his fingers. "I mentioned that I used to be a croupier right?"

"No."

"Oh...while I was at college I wanted to be a croupier...I worked in a casino one summer, which is how I met Candy and..." he trails off. "Long story, anyway, we were getting a divorce, and then Candy found out she was pregnant, with the triplets and so we decided we'd skip the divorce and keep living together to raise them, because even one baby is a lot of work, you know? Plus, the tax breaks helped a little."

Sam nods, because really, what else can he do?

"But..." Gabriel frowns and looks down at his hands, which are all knotted together. "Candy died just after they were born, some infection that complicated her recovery..." He swallows. "And she was my best friend, and...it didn't really feel right, being there and not being with her...so I moved over here to be near Cas...who's the only brother I can stand."

Sam looks at him, wondering what on earth he can say in a situation like this.

Gabriel catches himself gnawing on his lip nervously and looks up.

"I have a really good sitter in the village, for when I'm at work...so when I'm not working or spending time with the girls...like maybe once every couple of months? I go out and get...really drunk...and sometimes I wind up staying with Castiel, and sometimes I end up with a random guy." He glances at Sam. "And, for once it was kind of both...but, I don't want them to grow up with a mess of 'uncles' so I tend to keep everything...separate."

"Oh." Sam mutters.

Gabriel looks at him thoughtfully.

"So...yeah...I'm a big old mess of weird." He twists his fingers together again. "I wouldn't blame you...if you wanted to just...have your vacation and then..." he makes a 'fly away' gesture with one hand.

"You said you keep things...separate?" Sam asks slowly.

"Yeah."

"So..." Sam blocks out every single internal voice that tells him this is a bad idea. Including the Dean voice that is still laughing at him for wearing face paint. "...you wouldn't want me to spend the night?"

Gabriel looks at him, and Sam is momentarily gratified by the fact that he's surprised the other man. Then Gabriel scoots over on the bed, and Sam lies down next to him, still fully clothed save for his boots.

They lie down, face to face for a while, before Gabriel says, "If this was a real sleepover, you'd let me braid your hair."

Sam puts an arm around him and lets Gabriel rest his head against his chest, ticking the rumpled blanket up over them.

"Still want to braid my hair?"

Gabriel lays an arm over Sam's own, and shakes his head.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean is horrified to find Sam has alphabetised his DVD's.

Really, they are Sam's DVD's, and he's allowed to do what he wants with them, but Dean had spent so long de-organising them that he'd thought Sam would just let it lie.

The really bad thing about the arrangement is that, when Dean tells Castiel to just find a random movie while he makes popcorn, Cas predictably goes for the first movie on the shelf.

The alphabetical first.

This is how they end up watching Atonement.

Which is the dullest movie Dean has ever had to watch.

At least for the first twenty minutes.

There's something about the combination of James Mcavoy and Cas's frequent attempts to remove popcorn butter form his own fingers through the medium of tongue, that keeps Dean's interest. Whether he wants it to or not. Even the sudden introduction of gunfire and the World War Two narrative fail to ramp up his excitement any further.

In the midst of a particularly involved attempt at cleaning his fingertips, Castiel looks up and catches Dean's eye. The dark haired man pauses, realises what it is he's doing, and slowly lowers his hand.

"Sorry." He refocuses on the flat screen across from them. "This is very dull, isn't it?"

"Mmmhhmmm." Dean's ears burn with embarrassment. "New movie?"

"Yes please."

This time Dean gets to pick, and he chooses four of the loudest, brashest action movies that he's ever gifted to Sam. All of them still have their cellophane on. Castiel tugs down the blackout blinds on the windows, and together they sit on the couch, bathed in the glow of exploding cars, helicopters and Russian oil pipelines.

After a while Castiel leans against Dean's side, then leans a bit more, and after a while Dean realises that his friend has fallen asleep. Which is only to be expected, they had been going out at all hours, which Dean was used to, but which Castiel probably wasn't. Dean turns his eyes back to the screen, on which a car is exploding next to a helicopter, setting off a chain reaction that will engulf a pipeline in fire.

Castiel puts an arm around Dean's waist, smushing his face against the other man's side. Dean pats his hair distractedly and relaxes into the sofa. Castiel is warm, and kind of stretchy and heavy, like a cat full of porridge.

Dean can't really be blamed for failing to register the next explosion.

Or for curling up just a little more against the other man as the broken pipeline sprays burning oil at yet another helicopter.

(-*-)

Sam wakes up on top of Gabriel.

Which, if nothing else, is at least a nice change of pace.

Gabriel wakes up seconds later and 'eep's plaintively.

"Trapped!"

Sam rolls to one side.

"Good thing you didn't panic." He sighs, burying his face in the cold pillow beside the one he and Gabriel had apparently shared.

"Meh." Gabriel swats at his leg half heartedly.

Sam swats back.

Gabriel slaps Sam's thigh.

Sam turns over and pokes Gabriel in the stomach.

Gabriel glares at him, then flicks Sam in the nipple.

A scuffle ensues, and it's hard to say who technically wins, as it devolves quickly into what would be classified more as groping than actual fighting.

A knock on the door startles both of them, and Gabriel springs away from Sam like a lamb caught in a compromising situation. The edge of a tray comes around the door, followed by the heads of the triplets, each of whom has a hand in holding the tray aloft.

"Breakfast." Cookie explains, and the tray is placed on the end of the bed ceremoniously. "

Gabriel blinks at his daughters, then glances sideways at Sam, very much aware that they've just been caught in bed together.

"Can we watch TV now?" Peaches asks.

Gabriel looks like he's just stepped into a Stepford home, worried and confused.

"Sure." He manages, and the three girls scurry from the room.

Sam inspects the tray; two coffee cups of juice, two bowls of marshmallow laden cereal, pink plastic spoons and napkins.

"That...went oddly well." Gabriel muses, eyes still on the door.

"If this is weird..." Sam starts, aware that Gabriel had made his need of compartmentalising pretty clear.

"It's weird when they think it's weird." Gabriel tells him, reassuringly. "Until then...cereal." He passes a bowl to Sam, and they curl up near the headboard.

"But they are going to watch Hanna Montana without me." Gabriel says. "So you can owe me for that."

(-*-)

As the movie credits reel off and Dean prods the remote, telling the DVD player to shuffle the next movie into place, Castiel mumbles in his sleep and huffs exasperatedly.

Dean glances down at him.

He wonders if this is what being in a relationship is like, having someone to sleep next to, to wake up with. Being able to enjoy someone's company even when they're completely out of it.

He's going to be sad to see him go, he knows that much. Without Castiel, the only real relationship he has is with Sam. And Sam's great, but he's also his brother, so that's different. Dean can't even remember the last time he's spent this much time with someone who wasn't Sam, without sleeping with them. Even with Ellen and Jo he doesn't hang around for longer than a few hours.

He drops his head back against the couch cushions. Relationships were big, messy things, and Dean had a lot of stuff to worry about before he got into one, namely, how they'd react to his work, and how they'd react to Brandy. He couldn't take the chance that they'd over react and land him in trouble.

At some point, Dean falls asleep to the dulcet tones of Russian insurgents, and he wakes up in the same darkened room with someone kissing him.

It's not a deep, demanding kiss, more like a touch of lips against his own, but it's a pretty good way to wake up, and Dean's response is to put his arms up and catch hold of the waist of the person currently kneeling over his lap. They jolt in surprise, and he finds himself looking up at the wide, scared blue eyes of Castiel. The other man struggles for a second, clearly looking for some excuse, or something to say that will forestall Dean's anger.

So Dean does the only logical thing, he yanks him forwards, and kisses him.

(-*-)

They end up watching Hanna Montana anyway. Gabriel is busy making the girls breakfast, so they lead Sam away and plant him in front of the television. Which is just as well, clearly he can't spend time alone with Gabriel while there are impressionable innocents around.

It's only when the three girls have pancakes, and are happily seated on pink beanbags in front of the television, that Gabriel takes Sam to one side, out into the garden.

"Ok, here's the deal." Gabriel says quickly. "If you want to see me again before you go back home..."

"I do." San cuts in.

Gabriel smiles. "Well then it'll have to be at Cas's and I'll get a sitter in...it won't hurt them to see less of me for a week."

"You're worried they'll get used to me." Sam's surprised.

"I'm worried they'll want you around, when have other things to get back to." Gabriel shifts from foot to foot awkwardly. "You leaving is going to be hard enough without it breaking their hearts too."

He realises what he's said almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

"Don't even." Gabriel says, backing away and putting his hands up.

But it's too late, Sam's gone in for a hug.

They stand there, locked together as Gabriel gives up on any attempt to seem cool and aloof and just concentrates of holding onto Sam as tightly as possible.

The silence is only broken when Sam glimpses something over Gabriel's shoulder.

"You have a cow?"

(-*-)

"What about Brandy?" Castiel asks suddenly.

It takes Dean a moment to catch up, being mostly naked and on top of someone, also mostly naked, had kind of fried the 'What if...' part of his brain.

Castiel nudges him pointedly.

"I told you, I don't have a wife." Dean mutters, attempting to get back to what he was doing, which in this case meant experimenting with different points on Castiel's neck.

"But you have her things, at your house..." Castiel says, determinedly swatting Dean away.

"Yes, but...the thing is...this is the thing – Brandy isn't my anything. Ok? So, you don't have to worry."

"I do though." Castiel attempts to sit up, and Dean kind of gets in the way of that on purpose, because he doesn't want Cas to get further away, not right now anyway. He's very much in support of the opposing movement. "Worry, about...Dean, I don't want to be the person who lets you cheat...it felt crappy when it happened to me...and..."

Dean mentally slaps himself for being so blind, that was what Castiel was worried about. He thought for a second, using up the moment or two of oxygen left in his brain. So much for Sam's warning, he was going to have to tell Castiel about Brandy just to stop him from feeling like a total ass...and also because he liked Castiel, he was only just beginning to understand how much, and he didn't want to ruin that with one stupid secret.

Even if it was potentially a life ruining one.

"The thing about Brandy is, she..."

And that's when some British guy starts yelling, "Cassy, open this bloody door!"

Castiel looks like a deer in headlights, and Dean relinquishes the thinnest hope of getting laid.


	12. Chapter 12

Castiel answers the door in his underwear, and a shirt that he belatedly realises is Dean's.

Balthazar does not look happy. He's rumbled and haggard eyed, clearly a man who had just survived trial by budget airline, and he's wet, because it's raining outside. The blond man takes a moment to glare at Castiel's state of (un)dress, then shifts his focus and looks Castiel in the eye.

"I've been calling you." He says bluntly.

Castiel rubs the toes of one foot against the back of his calf.

"I've been letting it go to voicemail."

"All of your calls, or just mine?"

"Balthazar...I've been busy." Castiel pulls the shirt around himself anxiously. This is really, really not how he'd wanted the next twenty minutes to play out. Talking to his ex, who he still has an unrelenting crush on, whilst wearing another man's shirt, and attempting to will away the remains of a very promising erection – hadn't even crossed his mind as an option a few moments ago.

"I know you've been bus, it's been splashed over the gossip rags for a week." Balthazar gives his tousled appearance another fiery glare. "I had to approve the story for our culture section – not the best use of my time Cassy, proofing stories about our society copy writer being mauled by a C list 'musician'." His face flushes with anger as he continues his rant. "As if he belongs in the culture section for fucks sake, and might I mention that you were supposed to be editing my..."

Castiel jumps as an arm goes around his waist.

"Can I help you?" Dean says loudly, cutting off Balthazar's stream of recriminations. His other arm is propped on the doorframe as he leans casually against it, fingers toying with the buttons on Castiel's (Dean's) shirt.

"I'm talking to my..."

"Editor?" Dean's fingers wander to Castiel's navel, even as he keeps his voice good natured. "Must be urgent for you to come all the way out here, it being Christmas and all."

Balthazar bristles.

"It's very important work."

"Must be, for you to leave your lovely fiancée all alone."

Balthazar glares at him, and Castiel feels Dean tense behind him. He can also feel that Dean hasn't bothered to recover any of his clothing, and that he's currently menacing Balthazar in only his underwear. Which, judging from Balthazar's reaction, is working.

"Maybe you should mind your own business"

"Maybe you should get off my brother's property."

"Castiel is my friend, and I'm concerned for him...Running off like this isn't your style Cassy."

"I needed a vacation." Castiel says mildly. "And it's been a lot of fun. I feel rested."

Balthazar snorts rudely.

Castiel furrows his brow, for someone he'd thought so intelligent, so classy, Balthazar is acting rather like a spoilt child. Castiel had gone through the official process for taking vacation time, he'd made this decision all by himself, it was really nothing to do with Balthazar. He looks at the blond man and feels a sudden, influx of...nothing. All the hot and cold desire and nerves have dissipated. Sometime between leaving England and now, he has lost the need that shackled him to the other man. Balthazar is just a person now, an ex, with a slightly crooked nose and coffee breath. He's lost the perfection that he'd had before, or, Castiel thinks, maybe he's just stopped believing in Balthazar's perfection.

He'd kissed Dean. That was proof enough that things had changed for him. Not that he thought Dean was perfect. Dean, with his blasé wealth, terrible taste in movies and food, and his secrets, was definitely not perfect. But, Castiel wasn't perfect either - and he was beginning to understand that perfection was beguiling, but ultimately left you feeling unworthy and absurdly grateful by comparison.

"Balthazar...thank you for coming all this way to check on me...but I think you ought to go." Castiel says diplomatically.

"And leave you to be taken advantage of by a..."

"Balthazar." Castiel cuts him off.

"No, by all means finish that sentence." Dean says. "I'm going to kick your ass anyway, thanks to how you treated Cas..."

"How I treated..." Balthazar looks irate now. "I don't know what you're implying but..."

"Breaking up with him, and then using him as your own personal slave."

Castiel feels his shoulders slump. He's not particularly proud of himself for the way he had allowed himself to be used. Dean presses a little closer and traces his fingers over Castiel's skin, which makes him feel a little better.

"I didn't use him." Balthazar mutters. "He offered to..."

"Only because he was still hung up on you." Dean says, exasperated.

"Cassy?"

"I..." Castiel feels himself flush and looks down at the ground. "After you and Meg...I don't know, I just...felt like maybe I'd done something wrong, that I could fix it somehow." He looks up at Balthazar. "You didn't tell me you were getting married."

"It happened very fast."

"But still, you could have warned me before you announced it." Castiel collects his last shreds of dignity, and all the courage he can summon. "That was a...cruel, thing to do."

"Well...maybe I didn't think." Balthazar mutters. "That still doesn't mean you should run off to LA and...screw a hick with more money than sense."

Castiel looks at the man he once thought was the love of his life.

Then he gently closes the door in his face.

Castiel ignores the sounds of Balthazar swearing outside and turns to wrap his arms around Dean, resting his forehead against his chest.

"Now, tell me about Brandy...so we can have sex."

(-*-)

"So, what do you do?" Gabriel, asks through a mouthful of gingerbread Sam.

"I'm a lawyer." Sam says, snapping an arm from a shortbread angel. Gabriel (and supposedly the girls too – though Sam saw little evidence of their handiwork in the gingerbread Sam's and buttered Gabriel's) had been busy at the bakery that day, and now they were both lying under a blanket and munching cookies while Atonement played in the background.

"Dull." Gabriel condemns, pointing a finger at him dramatically.

"Some of us have to have real jobs...I swear you sound just like Dean."

"Dean being?" Gabriel shuffles closer, plastering their bodies together. Sam eyes the piles of clothing on the floor, wondering if this is a conversation that should have coincided with pants.

"Dean's my brother." He sighs.

It takes the expected three seconds for Gabriel to make the connection.

"Dean...Winchester? as in, THE Dean Winchester – of Mystik Spyral?"

"Yeah." Sam crunches cookie miserably, this always happened, and, no matter how much he loved Dean, it was always annoying. "Let me guess, you're a fan?"

Gabriel shrugs. "I've heard of them, but then, I'm an English speaker with ears so..." He frowns. "Hey, isn't he like, a raging homo?"

"And kind of a slut." Sam says disloyally.

"Huh...good for Cas" Gabriel dips a Sam head first into some chocolate sauce. "Aside from the cross dressing thing, that guy's a real catch."

Sam jerks in surprise.

"How the hell do you know that?"

"Woah, calm down." Gabriel holds up his hands, calming Sam as he would a spooked cow. "It's not common knowledge but...I have a source."

"Which is?" Sam can't help it, his voice is still several octaves too high. If Dean's secret ever got out, his career would be over. A certain amount of weird was expected from rock stars – secretly being a country singer in drag? Kind of beyond strange.

"Bar maid at the dive he performs in, she knows I'm into that whole scene, so she sent me some video's, YouTube links, you know? But I think I'm the only one who's notices the connection."

Sam breathes a small sigh of relief, then thinks more carefully about what Gabriel just said. "Wait, you're into cross dressing?"

"By proxy." Gabriel shrugs. "Back in Vegas..." he looks at Sam. "Actually...it's funnier if it's a surprise."

"Tell me." Sam points a cookie at him threatening.

"Ok, ok...so you know I told you about me and Candy and Mark?" Gabriel says. "Well, for a while Cas lived with me out in Nevada, he was having a hard time at home, being gay and all, figured we'd all be outcasts together. But...well, Castiel and Mark had a thing that ended badly, so he moved out to England...then I followed a while later with the girls." Gabriel frowns. "You know...I still can't think what happened to Mark...it's driving me crazy...but yeah, that's Cas's story."

"How is that anything to do with..."

"Oh right – well, when Cas lived with me, he used to do a drag show." Gabriel shrugs and picks up a cookie. "Called himself Cherry Pie, wore a lot of red lip gloss...he kind of rocked, loath as I am to say it." Something occurs to him. "Are you going to tell your brother?"

Sam thinks for a moment.

"I think it's funnier if he finds out by himself."

Gabriel grins.

"That settles it, evil is an STD." He settles more firmly against Sam's body. "Brandy Snap and Cherry Pie...imagine the children Sammy...just imagine."

Sam pulls a disgusted face.

Gabriel bites the head off of an angel.

They both turn back to the screen at the same time, warm, naked and stuffed to the gills with sugar.

"I fucking love this movie." They murmur simultaneously.


	13. Chapter 13

Castiel sits cross-legged, Dean's shirt pulled around him.

"So...Brandy?" He says.

"Yeah, I'm getting to it." Dean paces around the bed, still wearing only his underwear, which is proving quite distracting. He sighs. "This is hard to explain."

"Take your time." Castiel encourages.

"Uh...ok...I'm...the thing about Brandy is...all the stuff at my house, in that room...it's mine."

"You mean..." Castiel frowns. "What do you mean?"

"It's my size, I bought it...I wear it." Dean mutters.

"You're a...transves..."

"Drag queen." Dean interrupts.

"Huh..."

"Yeah, I know, it's weird and creepy and so not something that should EVER get out to the press, because I had enough trouble over the whole gay thing and I really really don't ever want to have to explain this, so telling you was sooo unbelievably stupid..."

"Dean, I need to tel..."

"...and Sam is going to KILL me, I mean, actually kill me dead, because he's been in charge of keeping this secret for-fucking-ever because it's his kind of thing and I'm way too impulsive, and I slept with his mailman so he's already mad at me, but this, this is BAD. This is career endingly BAD..."

"Dean, listen..."

"...and the only reason I told you is because, ok, so you've only been here like a week and you're kind of weird and stunted and hung up on the douchebag, but you're also kind of cute and I'm really glad I crawled into bed with you and not that creepy guy who was hitting on me while I was out, and now I can't really imagine you leaving and then you kissed me so...so I don't know and, ok, whatever, I love you, so when Sam kills me it'll all be very..."

Castiel kisses him.

"Bad." Dean finishes, when he comes up for air. "Shit. I don't usually...babble. That was all...babble."

"When I was in college I went to live with Gabriel, my brother, in Vegas." Castiel says quickly. "I had a show, my drag name was 'Cherry Pie' and I sang classic show tunes."

"I...did not see that coming." Dean looks at him, wide eyed. "You're...no, no, uh-uh, not buying it."

"I'm not lying." Castiel feels affronted.

"Pretty convenient though, I mean, you being the..."

"Oh, I was low, Gabriel, low,  
Mighty low, Gabriel, low.  
But now since I have seen the light,  
I'm good by day and I'm good by night,  
So blow,Gabriel,blow!"

Dean actually takes half a step back, Castiel's voice reaches such an impressively full volume. And, ok, so it's been years since he was in Vegas, listening to some soul-twistingly beautiful guy, standing on a white piano in a red silk dress singing his lungs out – but he'd never forget the shiver it gave him. From the soles of his feet to the roots of his hair.

"Fuck." Is how he chooses to articulate this.

Castiel blushes bright red and tries to get his breath back.

"Fuck." Dean says again.

And that's pretty much all the warning Cas gets before he's pushes backwards onto (Sam's) bed, and kissed senseless.

(-*-)

Sam's not expecting the phone call when it happens.

He's lying on the floor of Castiel's living room, his head in Gabriel's lap, when both their cell phones go off.

Simultaneously.

"Dean?" Sam says into his, mystified, just as Gabriel says – "Cas?" into his.

"Dude, you have to help me – I told Cas about Brandy and everything, and now...now we've slept together and I don't want him to go." Dean says in a rush.

"Where are you?"

"I came downstairs, mostly to start up the Jacuzzi, but now I'm panicking and...shit, I sound like a girl."

"Calm down." Sam says, just as Gabriel darts into the hallway to have his own conversation. "We can work this...hold on, you don't have a Jacuz...oh my God, you're in my house aren't you?"

"Well..."

"DEAN! That's my home! Go have sex in YOUR home." Sam feels his whole body tense in disgust. "Please...please tell me you at least did it in the guest room."

"Am I allowed to lie? Sweet – we did it in the guest..."

"Ugh, I cannot believe you." Sam shudders. "You are buying me another bed."

"I bought you THAT bed." Dean grouses. "Besides, you've been getting lucky at Cas's"

Sam blanches. "How...did you know that?"

"Oh my God, I was just fishing – You had sex!" Dean exclaims.

Sam hits himself in the forehead. How could he forget what Dean was like? It'd only been a week.

"Who with? Some hot English librarian?"

"Uh...there's something I should probably tell you..."

"Please tell me you didn't ask her to marry you – you're on the rebound, no big decisions."

Sam punches a couch cushion for looking at him knowingly.

"The thing is...I met this..."

"Shit, I think he's getting weirded out by how long I've been down here." Dean mutters. "I have to get back...just...Sam, I don't think I can handle him leaving me."

"Dean, no big decisions, remember? Castiel, had kind of a thing with his boss – he told me about it."

"I know, the guy showed up here." Dean tells him,

"What?" Sam's eyebrows shot up. "How did..."

"Gotta go, I'll call later."

Dean hangs up.

Out in the hallway, Gabriel was having his own conversation.

"...and he's going to come back any second and I don't know, It was good soooo (Gabriel is sooooo freaked out by his brother's post sex gravel voice) good, and, and..."

"Cas, Cas, slow down, deep breaths – you are not Paris Hilton, you need to enunciate."

"I slept with Dean Winchester."

"I got that part – now what?"

"That's exactly what I'd like to know. What now? What am I doing, starting something with him when I have to leave."

Gabriel toes the floor.

"Maybe you really, really like him...more than anyone else you've ever met. Maybe with that kind of passion, everything else has to take a back seat – logic, reality, the laws of common decency..."

"..." Ominously, Cas said nothing.

Gabriel bit his lip.

"I cannot believe that you had sex with Sam." His brother finally hisses.

"I can't believe that you had sex." Gabriel retorts.

Castiel sighs.

"Just...expunge your stains before I return."

Gabriel gasps, offended. "I always do."

Castiel sighs again.

"He's a drag queen by the way." Gabriel tells him, "It's this big secret but..."

"I know."

"Way to make me feel impotent bro."

"I wish you were." Castiel mutters vehemently.

Gabriel chuckles. "Anyway, you guys should have fun, swap make-up tips – tucking verses taping – you'll have a whale of a time. Above all – get laid little brother, as often and as long as time and biology allows."

"I plan to." Castiel says tautly. "My love to the girls."

"My love to Dean's penis." Gabriel says jovially. "Bring me back some Lucky Charms and some RC."

"Will do."

They ring off and Gabriel goes back into the lounge.

"Dean's having sex in my bed." Sam tells him numbly. "I don't even have sex in my bed."

"My brother's having kinkier sex than me." Gabriel says, sitting down sadly. "Kinky drag queen sex, with a rock star...in your bed."

Sam shudders.

"Want to make cookie dough?" Gabriel asks brightly.

"Why?"

"Well, until you go home and burn your sheets – we should really focus on my problem, namely the having of the kinky sex."

Sam looks at him for a second.

"Yeah, ok." He says.

Who knew, maybe Castiel would be so traumatised by the state of his house, that he'd turn right around and go back to America.

Really, it was the brotherly thing to do.


	14. Chapter 14

Gabriel and Sam spend the day with the girls, and Sam forgets for a while that he's not a part of their weird, circus like family.

They build snowmen in the garden at Gabriel's place, Cookie, Ginger and Peaches each build a snow-girl, with coal eyes and carrot noses and bows on their heads. Gabriel and Sam co-operate in trying to build a snow-cow, but it comes out more as a snow-manatee.

Shake, the cow, is very unimpressed.

Inside, warming up by the fire, Sam thinks that they look like a weird Christmas card - with the girls wrapped up in blankets, and Gabriel passing around hot chocolate, the tree glittering behind him. They play on the Wii, and the girls school Sam repeatedly, before being hustled to bed, so that Gabriel can read them a bedtime story.

Their sitter arrives a half hour later, and Gabriel and Sam walk back to Castiel's cottage, arriving freezing cold, but still taking the time to build a snow penis in the back garden. (well, Gabriel builds, Sam rolls his eyes from the safety of the back door).

Then they have 'Christmas cocktails' which is pretty much just a martini glass of vodka and lemonade, with a candy cane in it. And watch some competitive ballroom dancing thing on the crappy TV.

For the first time, they don't have sex. They just curl up in Castiel's bed, covered with as many blankets as they can find, and kiss, long and deep, until it's time for Gabriel to go home to his family.

They hug on the doorstep, and Sam wishes he could stay with Gabriel, in his bright, Christmassy, crazy house. With his bright, crazy daughters.

Both of them are very aware that they only have another week together.

And if either man notices that the other is holding him a little tighter, or a little longer than usual, neither of them says anything.

Dean wakes up feeling happy.

He doesn't know why exactly, his brain is still very much in the 'go back to sleeeeep' mode of thought. Everything is warm and semi-dark and comfy, and there's really no reason to move or think much about anything. He stretches out and waggles his arms and legs like a starfish, swooshing them over the sheet and beneath the covers.

God he loves big beds.

Only...

Dean sits up and looks around at what is definitely Sam's bedroom. There's the dangly white fabric and plaster cherubs that he'd made fun of, and the door leading to the massive en suite, which is cracked open.

Huh.

He remembers quite quickly after that, spurred on by the ache in what he's modestly going to refer to as his 'lower back' and the weirdness of his hair, which was wet when he went to sleep on it. Because he'd had sex in Sam's Jacuzzi, with Castiel.

After having sex with Castiel on Sam's bed.

And then, after the Jacuzzi, they'd gotten half way upstairs before...

And then again on the bedroom floor...

And the bed again.

Dean's kinda proud of himself. Because, well, he gets laid all the time, and Castiel, with his clearly very long and trying dry spell, kind of had an advantage, plus he was kind of intense and controlled on the surface. But Dean's pretty sure he gave as good as he got.

He kind of feels like he's been mauled by a really horny bear though. In a good way.

Dean shrugs off his thoughts, and the sheets, once he notices a very important fact.

That Castiel is no longer in bed with him.

He stands up and winces, then sits down sharply and winces again, before carefully getting to his feet, and trying to walk as gently as possible.

He creeps over the carpet, snagging a blanket and wrapping it around his waist as he goes. The bedroom door is open a little. Maybe Castiel had gone downstairs for something to drink and had gotten lost? It happened a lot to Dean, even in his own house, and Sam's was even more confusing.

The he hears a shuffle in the bathroom.

"Cas?"

The shuffle stops instantly, like someone is deliberately staying very, very still.

Oh, so it was like that.

Dean feels his good mood instantly deflate. This is what happened, what always happened.

Sam often teased him about sleeping with all the delivery guys, groupies, bar tenders and cab drivers that came his way, saying that it was like Dean lived in his own personal bubble of porn logic. Which was kind of true, to a point. But Sam didn't know about what came next. After the steamy attraction, there came the sex, and after the sex...well, Dean didn't really have an 'after'. Sure, people wanted to stick around because of the band, or the money, but that initial whit-hot attraction lasted only a day or so, if he was lucky. Pretty soon, the more honest guys would creep out of bed, maybe leave him a note thanking him for the 'great time', and then they'd be gone. Only the leeching scumbags ever stuck around for longer than a night or so.

Dean braced himself and pushed open the door, knowing that he'd find Castiel freshly showered, mostly dressed, and sheepish. Then maybe the awkward small talk, the 'thanks for everything' and maybe a cup of coffee before he was gone.

Dean couldn't help but hope that he'd at least stay for coffee. No matter how much it would hurt, because he didn't want Cas to leave right away.

As he opens the door, Dean peers around it, and Castiel looks up at him, from his position, seated on the closed lid of the toilet. He's not dressed, just wearing a grey robe that he must have found on the back of the door, it's pulled around him but not tied, and Dean notes with a start that Cas hasn't even showered. His hair is sticking up at odd angles and his face is stubbly, under his eyes are deep purple smudges from lack of sleep.

His eyes are ringed in red.

When he sees Dean, Castiel presses his lips together, brows drawing in.

"Hey..." Dean comes closer automatically, one hand holding the blanket around his waist. "You ok?"

Castiel nods, but his face creases up more.

Dean puts his arm around him, pulling him close and squeezing him lightly.

"What is it?"

"I...uh..." Castiel swallows. "I got a call...I have to get back to work...I fly out tomorrow."

Dean's heart rolls in his hollow chest, a spinning bottle cap shuddering to a stop.

"I thought you had another week?"

"I did too...but..." Castiel sucks in a breath. "There's a big wedding coming up and...someone else was going to cover it, but Balthazar..."

"Is being an asshole." Dean finishes.

Castiel looks up at him, visibly torn.

"I need this job Dean." He says apologetically.

"I suppose if I offered to..."

Castiel is already shaking his head. "I can't take your money."

"Yeah...I know." Dean sighs. "Ok...well, I mean, we knew this was going to happen...that you were going to have to go home."

"I just thought we'd have more time." Castiel says quietly. He glances up at Dean. "I wanted more time."

"Me too."

The silence is almost as glaring as the shiny bathroom suite.

"I don't...I mean, it's ok if you don't want to...keep this up." Castiel says after a while. "I don't blame you...it's not like we...we didn't promise anything, and if you just want to keep it..."

Dean squeezes him, unable to say that he wants to see him again. Because, if Castiel wants to give him an out...maybe he doesn't feel the same way. Maybe all Castiel wanted was a fling, and now that it's over...he's going back to England, and Balthazar, as soon as he's called.

A tiny part of Dean thinks that this is bullshit, that of course Castiel wants him, and loves him as much as Dean has come to love the strange guy who turned up in his brother's bed. And that Castiel just can't afford to lose his job and his life in England – he's not as rich and spoilt for connections like Dean is – and that Dean has forgotten what it's like to be a real person, with a real job and obligations.

But Dean can't listen to that tiny part of himself – not when everything else in him is hurting so much.

So instead of saying 'Stay' he says – "I'll miss you."

And instead of saying 'I will', Castiel says 'Me too.'


	15. Chapter 15

What was supposed to be their morning after, becomes Castiel's last day in America, and there's a definite sadness around the whole thing that refuses to dissipate.

It's still there once Castiel is showered, and once Dean has had his turn in the bathroom, and emerged to find Castiel sitting on the bed in his gray robe, looking down at his phone like he wants to kill it.

Dean crosses the room, takes the phone away from him, and puts his hands around Castiel's waist, pushing him back onto the bed.

The phone skitters to the floor, forgotten for a while.

What should have been morning sex, followed by some coffee, more sex and maybe a croissant, becomes infinitely more complex. After a few minutes, both men realise that they are just kissing frantically, clinging to each other, neither making any effort to move closer to having sex. When Dean starts to move away, to work out what's going on, Castiel just holds onto him, so they end up lying there, until Dean rolls to the side, pulling Castiel with him, dragging the sheet up over them.

They lie there, clean, damp haired and coiled tightly together. Doing anything else – breakfast, dressing, leaving the house – would only part them quicker than they wanted. Both Dean and Castiel have only one real desire at that moment, and that is to stay wrapped up with the other, in the dark, where phones and work and other countries don't exist. Where they're just two shadowy bodies, on a bed, with not even an inch of spare space between them.

Castiel lays his head against Dean's chest, feeling the skin there as very warm under the blankets that blot out the morning light. He can hear Dean's heart beating against his ear, and he strokes the other man's stomach as he lies there, trying to memorise this moment, without thinking of his cottage, of the cold and the loneliness that wait for him – with only Pongo for company. Christmases, New Years, Birthdays and regular days, had passed over and over again, lonely and empty for him. No one but Gabriel and the girls visited, and whilst he loved them a lot, they didn't fill up the place in his heart that had gone unused for so long – the part that was waiting to love someone, and have them love him back.

Dean's skin is warm and soft, his hands trailing up and down Castiel's back sleepily, and both men think at the same time that they've never been happier, never had anything better than this. This one morning, lying in bed and knowing that the other person wants to be there are much as they do.

(-*-)

Sam gets a text at the same time as Gabriel.

Both men check their phones, Gabriel still stirring the pan of pasta on the stove with his other hand, Sam paused in the act of slicing bread. They glance at each other.

"Well...Castiel may not be entirely emotionally literate...but that is his miserable texting tone." Gabriel says, showing Sam the neat little cold lines of writing.

"Dean's..." Sam looks down at the screen. "Being bluff and crass...definitely a danger sign."

"So...if Castiel has to come home early...you're thinking neither of them are going to be happy?" Gabriel glares at the phone. "He's been miserable for years over Balthazar, and now he's finally getting some, from a rock star no less, and that asshole has to rip it apart to make Castiel come back to massage his ego and cover his fucking weddi..."

Gabriel's eyes go wide.

"Oh my God."

"Oh my God what?"

Gabriel's face goes from 'There's a scorpion in my underwear' to 'normal' in a half a second.

"It's probably nothing." He stirs the sauce again. "So, are you going to have to...go?"

"I guess Castiel'll want his house back." Sam mutters. "And...there isn't really anywhere to stay around here...and Dean will probably you know...need me."

Gabriel nods sagely, not looking at him.

"But...I don't want to go." Sam says carefully.

Gabriel looks at him then.

"I..." Sam bites his lip and tries to think of words that Dean wouldn't have to kill him for using aloud. "I have no idea what this is...or how it happened...but I like it, I like...you...and leaving you would...suck."

"You leaving would also suck." Gabriel wriggles his shoulders awkwardly. "Not because...it's just...Shake would be heartbroken."

"Well I don't want that." Sam says.

"So...if you stayed up at the house with me and the girls...maybe that might be nice."

Sam can see how much it's costing Gabriel to even suggest it – to show how much he wants Sam there in that he'd let him stay with his children, in his compartmentalised life.

"I'd love to." Sam says quickly. "They're great...I really like them."

"Like you really like me?" Gabriel says teasingly.

"I more than like you." Sam says quietly, and the words fall into the air, heavy and meaningful, and in that one second he feels the utter panic of someone who's just laid themselves bare, with no guarantee of a response.

"Sam, I..." He rolls his eyes at himself. "That thing? That two people have, where they...I just...I love you, ok...and if you don't go upstairs and get naked right now then...my embarrassment will reach critical mass..."

Sam reaches over and turns off the burner under the sauce. Then takes Gabriel's hand and pulls him out of the kitchen and towards the stairs.

(-*-)

Dean eventually sighs, pushing back the sheet so he can look down into Castiel's weary eyes.

"This is not how we're spending your last day."

And it isn't.

They climb out of bed and get dressed, and then Dean drives them over to his place, so that they can sit out by his pool (guitar shaped) and drink beer while they come up with a plan of what they want to do in their final hours together. It's Dean who thinks of it first, or rather, voices what he's been thinking since he heard Castiel sing those few lines back at Sam's.

"I want to hear you sing."

"You've heard me." Castiel says, sipping beer and looking out over the sparkling blue water.

"I want everyone to hear you...see you be her again."

Castiel dips his head and smiles shyly.

"I haven't done it in ages."

"You were good in Vegas." Dean tells him. "You...I mean I like a certain type of music, and you were not it – still felt fucking electric when I heard you."

Castiel blushes.

They find their way to Brandy Snap's wardrobe, and Dean bites gently at his lip as he considers the rails of clothing, letting Castiel sit at the dressing table. He eventually finds some clothes that he thinks will work with Cherry's persona.

He holds them up, and watches Castiel's eyes flicker from nervousness to desire and back again.

"You could just...try them on?" Dean suggests. And that's all it takes.

Castiel dons an expensive red lace bra from a drawer of carefully displayed underwear. There are matching lace shorts, and he slides into those as well, safe in the dark, perfume scented space behind a screen. He shimmies into red, high waisted pants, something that a 1920's impersonator might have worn, topped with an elegant cream silk shirt.

He steps out into the light, uncertainly running his fingers through his hair.

Dean, sitting on the dressing table stool, lets out a low whistle.

Castiel blushes.

Still, once he's used the impressive collection of cosmetics in the dressing table, added some pearl earrings and red heels, Castiel finds himself looking into the kohl rimmed eyes of Cherry, and when he speaks, it's with her lipstick lined mouth.

"You have good taste...I've never seen a room like this."

Dean shrugs. "I got really into buying stuff for her...I don't really give a crap about my shirts and jeans, but...uh...she's picky."

"Rightly so."

Dean can't get over how different Cherry is to Castiel, she moves like she owns the place, talks like she knows how ,much Dean wants her.

"Where is it that you sing?" She asks.

"Ellen's."

Cherry tips her head to one side, neatening the curl of dark hair that's pasted down by her ear.

"You should get changed." She says, catching Dean's eye in the mirror. "You didn't think I'd perform for nothing, did you?"

So, that's how Dean and Castiel are left in crumpled heaps of denim and cotton in an elegant boudoir. And Brandy and Cherry make their way to Ellen's to perform.


	16. Chapter 16

Ellen's is packed out for the night, but with a very different crowd to every other evening. The booths, tables and bar stools are occupied by a mixture of interested out of towners, locals who know about Brandy and who come to see her on a regular basis, and a even a few other performers, waiting for an open mike spot. They are the glittering birds amongst the rough wood surroundings, some dressed in sequins and silk, others in classy black dresses and pearls. Ellen serves them all, with her usual blend of indifference and sarcasm, but inside she's happy – this is her busiest night of the week, affectionately known by Jo as 'drag out the good stuff'.

When Dean and Castiel enter the bar, Ellen barely recognises the strange, quiet little guy she'd met a few days ago. The audience cheer when they see Dean, and Ellen has to admit that he's really outdone himself – a short denim skirt that Jo would probably want (and would definitely not be able to afford) fishnets, one of his many pairs of cowboy boots, white tassel jacket and a long curly wig (dark blond tonight) and as usual, augmented with rhinestone clasps.

Ellen raises an eyebrow when Dean shows Castiel to a seat by the stage, settling him in like a visiting royal before making a graceful leap onto the stage.

"Hey guys!"

Ellen will never get used to Dean, who she has known for a long, long time, twinkling out at the audience from under hastily hung fairy lights, beaming like Dolly Parton.

There's a guitar already up there, and Dean wastes no time picking it up, strumming experimentally.

"Ok, well, thanks for waiting on me – paring round here's getting harder since Jo starting twitting about this thing."

Ellen rolls her eyes at the patter, and starts digging around under the bar for a good bottle of red wine – she'd definitely seen one back there a couple of months ago. It was a safe bet that no one had ordered it yet. Once she'd found it and poured a glass, she took it up to where Castiel was sitting. As a rule she never took drinks to people, but, from the looks of things, Castiel – or whoever he was tonight – wasn't one to order drinks for himself in bars.

By this time, Dean, or rather, Brandy, has gotten the crowd warmed up, and is about to launch into a song.

"So this...is for the lovely lady in the front row, who recently kicked a cheating asshole to the curb."

The crowd 'woooed' and one girl in a tube top actually whistled.

"And, well, she is looking downright enviable tonight...and this song is for her – in the red high heels."

Ellen is certain that no one else sees Castiel blush, but she does, and for a second she can see him under his other character, and she smiles to herself on the way back to the bar.

"Baby, I've got plans tonight  
You don't know nothin about  
I've been sittin round way too long  
Tryin' to figure you out  
But you say that you'll call and you don't  
And I'm spinning my wheels  
So I'm goin out tonight in my red high heels."

Ellen, much as she doesn't want to inflate Dean's rock star ego any more than it already is, has to admit that Brandy is an excellent singer. Possibly better than Dean himself, or at least, better than any of the tracks he sings with that band of his.

"All those games you tried to play  
Well they ain't gonna work on me now  
I put a barbed wire fence around my heart, baby  
Just to keep you out  
Well, you thought I'd wait around forever  
But baby get real  
I just kicked you to the curb  
In my red high heels."

When Dean finishes the song, the clapping and foot stamping actually makes the beer bottles on the bar shake.

But the reaction Ellen is waiting for, is Castiel's.

And the small, shy smile he sends Dean's way, is exactly what she's wanted for her friend, for all the years she's known him.

(-*-)

Sam and Gabriel take Sam's suitcase over to Gabriel's house that evening. They're having dinner with the girls to celebrate Sam moving in with them (just for a while – Gabriel kept stressing to them, just for a while).

The girls don't seem to be taking Gabriel's gently words of warning to heart, and they are fizzing with enthusiasm by the time Gabriel serves up lasagne for dinner.

All though the meal they both try to pretend that this is just an ordinary dinner, that Sam will be headed off once they've finished off the pasta and wine. But they both know, just as the girls do, that this is a whole different kind of night to those that they've shared in the last week.

Finally, Gabriel manages to get the girls into bed, and he and Sam sit in the living room, drinking wine in the semi-darkness, and watching the Christmas tree lights blink on and off.

"Bed then." Gabriel says after a while.

"Yeah." Sam sets his wineglass down.

"You really weren't gay, when you got here?" Gabriel asks, suddenly.

"I really, really wasn't."

"Huh..." Gabriel frowns. "I thought, you know, that you were being coy."

"Nope - just terrified and...Bi, apparently."

"Well, you fooled me." Gabriel looks at him, and for a second Sam feels like they're meeting for the first time. "Sam..."

Sam kisses him, and he actually feels Gabriel's lashes against his skin, as the other man closes his eyes.

"Yes."

"What?" Gabriel blinks at him, temporarily all out of English.

"Yes, I'm sure."

Gabriel looks at him, and Sam watches him swallow, think better of whatever it was he was about to say. When the smaller man leans against him, tucking his head under Sam's chin, Sam squeezes him gently, and wonders why it feels like he's on a freaking rollercoaster when he's just sitting here, in a warm little room, with blinking Christmas lights and a lapful of the best company he could imagine.

"I never thought it would be this scary." Gabriel says, after a second.

Sam doesn't have to ask what he means.

He never thought being in love would be scary either.

(-*-)

When Dean gets off the stage, he hops down neatly beside Cherry, smiles, and holds out a hand.

"Your turn."

He will never tell anyone that his heart skips not one, but four beats, when Cherry takes his hand and stands up, allowing him to lead her to the stage. With her hand in his, she steps up onto the stage elegantly, and turns to face the microphone, making no move towards the guitar.

"Hello."

She says it, just like that, as if she's met a friend on the street. Low and husky, but heard by everyone.

It's the first time Dean remembers Ellen's going suddenly silent.

"I love this song." Cherry continues. "I used to sing it to myself, at home...because I haven't been on the stage in years. And...well, I think now it deserves to be heard, and that's because, I get it now. Cliché as it is...I understand what it's like now, to..." She blinks slowly, black lashes on white skin, scarlet lips taking in a breath slowly.

Dean is literally on the edge of his seat, mindless of the careful divide between himself and Brandy, wanting Castiel, in every way he'd ever known be possible.

But more than anything, he wants the words that come next, always.

"If I didn't care,

More than words can say  
If I didn't care,

would I feel this way?  
If this isn't love,

then why do I thrill  
And what makes my head go round,

and round  
While my heart stands still

If I didn't care,

would it be the same?  
Would my every prayer begin and end

with just your name?  
And would I be sure that this is love beyond compare?  
Would all this be true,

if I didn't care for you?" 

Silence.

Every, single person in the bar just looks and looks up at the stage.

At some point Cherry, Castiel - both and neither, had closed their eyes. Just standing on a rough wood stage, with his eyes closed, no music, and singing so clear and so deeply, that Dean swears he can hear Cas's heart beating from where he sits in the audience.

Then one person starts to clap, right at the back of the room, and maybe it's Ellen, maybe it's Jo – but it breaks the spell, and soon, everyone is clapping as hard as they can.

Castiel takes a breath, like he's stunned, and there's no Cherry on his face now – it's pure Cas.

Dean hops up onto the stage, shoves the microphone away to one side, and kisses him.

(-*-)

That night, with the alarm set for five am, when Cas needs to be at the airport, and the night outside beautifully distant. Castiel wipes the last of his lipstick off and climbs into bed next to Dean.

"Promise me you'll keep singing." Dean says quietly.

"I always sing."

"I mean, on a stage...where people can see how good you are." They're lying without a spare inch of space between them, and Dean still finds a way to move closer.

"I'll try." Castiel promises. "If you promise to do something that you really want to do."

"I always do." Dean says, confused.

"No, you're always doing stuff for the band, for your image, the record company...do something for Brandy, something you'll both love."

"That was tonight." Dean tells him.

Castiel breathes out softly. "Tonight was...perfect."

"Hey, s'not over yet." Dean smiles against the skin under Castiel's ear, and the smaller man shivers, a smile gracing his own mouth.

Neither one of them has ever had a night like it – and neither believes that they ever will again.

At five am exactly, Castiel disables the alarm, and slides out of Dean's arms, collecting his suitcase and dressing as silently as he can.

His cab is waiting for him at the gates of the house by five-ten, and Castiel leaves, looking out of the back window for as long as he can stand it.

He didn't want to have to say goodbye.

The last words Dean said to him, lying the soft darkness on a thoroughly debauched bed, were 'I will never meet anyone, as perfect as you."

And Castiel holds onto those words as he boards his flight.

When Dean wakes up, a half hour after Castiel left the bed – he looks at the empty space next to him for a long moment.

He doesn't have to check the whole, huge, house.

He knows that Castiel is gone.


	17. Chapter 17

"Daddy?"

A small hand clutches at the edge of the feather quilt, pulling on it. Gabriel smushes his face into the pillow, clinging to sleep like a child clings to a teddy bear. He remembers the days when he could sleep until it was night again. Bliss.

"Daddy?" The tugging is more insistent, and the quilt moves. Cold air reaches in like a mean toddler and snatches away his precious sleep.

He blinks one eye open, mentally preparing himself for some closet monster fighting.

"Peach?" He mutters.

He can't see his daughter, so reluctantly he levers himself up on one elbow, peering over the edge of the bed and into the night-time gloom.

Nothing. Next to him, on the other side of the bed, Sam sits up and looks down at the little girl who's tugging on the quilt next to him. Her bunches are lopsided, and she's wearing cupcake PJ's, and she reaches out to pluck at his hand when she realises that he's awake.

"Daddy, there's a weird noise outside."

Sam glances at Gabriel anxiously; the smaller man is frozen, looking at his daughter in confusion, then back at Sam – nonplussed.

Sam slowly swings his legs out of bed, glad of his oversize pyjama pants, and the foresight that led to him bringing them with him. Peaches takes a step back, raising her arms. Again, Sam looks at Gabriel, who nods, almost disbelievingly.

Sam picks Peaches up and carries her back to her room.

"It's there." She says, pointing past her equally awake and scared sisters to the window.

Sam looks out of the window, and spots a sheepish looking Shake trying to chew through the squeaky gate on her pen. Sam glares down at the cow. It looks dolefully back for a few seconds, then tramps off to do something else.

"It's just Shake trying to get out." Sam assures them.

He turns to find wide eyed but reassured children watching him expectantly. With a sense that he is performing some kind of minor miracle, without knowing how – Sam tucks the three of them back into bed, and, at her behest, perches on the edge of Ginger's bed and stays there until she closes her eyes and dozes off.

He pads back into Gabriel's bedroom, to find that the other man is fully awake, sitting up in bed in Sam's own 'Mystick Spyral' T-shirt and chewing anxiously on a...

"Is that a liquorice whip?"

"I eat when I'm nervous." Gabriel declares.

"And happy, and sad, and pissed off..."

"And when I'm hungry." Gabriel says haughtily

Sam rubs a hand over his face, closes the door and makes his way to the bed, where he climbs back under the quilt.

There's silence, save for the snapping of liquorice.

"She called you 'Daddy'." Gabriel says quietly.

"I know."

"Is that..." Gabriel looks at him. "Does that bother you? I mean, is it cause for some 'I need space' 'this is moving too fast' freak out? Because I get it, if it is."

"I'm not freaking out." Sam lies.

Gabriel glares at him. "Really? Because I am."

"Ok, so, there's a little freaking out...but, it's probably a mistake, or..." Sam sighs. "Or this is moving too fast for them."

Gabriel looks down at the quilt, but says nothing.

"I mean, it's been a week." Sam continues. "And...we've jumped ahead by...a lot. And if I leave...you know I don't want to hurt them."

"I know."

"But...I was thinking that...maybe I didn't have to go."

Gabriel's head snaps up so fast that Sam is surprised he doesn't get whiplash.

"I'm not inviting myself to stay with you." Sam says quickly. "But, I thought that, maybe I could stay local, work out my notice long distance. I've wanted to start a practice for a while...kind of sucks being a corporate asshole lawyer, whatever I make at it. And...then we could spend some more time, together."

"I want you to stay." Gabriel says, eventually.

"Ok, then I can do some house hunting...call in some favours at work..." His relief is indescribable, he wants more than anything to keep seeing Gabriel, as crazy as it seems to most of his brain, he can't imagine leaving the man he's only known for a week.

So, Gabriel's next words take a second to process.

"No, I want...I'd really like it, if you'd stay here - with me."

Sam can hardly believe it.

"You mean...live with you?"

"Well, you could live with Shake, but...I don't think she'd like it." Gabriel smiles, but it's a tissue paper grin – easily crumpled.

"Yes." Sam says. "Yes, I'd love to live here."

Gabriel's smile strengthens, like a high watt bulb powering up.

Down the hall, in their bedroom, Peaches, Ginger and Cookie sleep, tucked up and smiling mischievously. They'd inherited their father's talent for cunning manipulation – they just didn't know it yet.

"We should celebrate." Gabriel whispers, arms around Sam, the tip of his nose resting on top of Sam's head. "No, we should go and see Castiel – he'll be miserable on his own."

"I'd like to meet him, especially, you know – if he and Dean..." Sam frowns. "I really have to tell Dean about you."

"I'll get a sitter, we can go see him tomorrow." Gabriel promises. "And...you can call Dean whenever you want. Just so long as someone takes a picture of his face when he finds out."

(-*-)

The flight is hell.

He's miserable, which doesn't help. The kind of misery that makes you want to shed your skin and crawl out of your own mangled chest, just so you don't have to be you anymore.

Downing two mini vodkas and a tiny Jack Daniels doesn't really help – but it does make the journey slightly more bearable, even if he feels sick by the time the plane lands.

The airport is swarming with people, and it's unfamiliar and cold, and the British accents grate on him. He takes some pain killers for his growing headache, and manages to find a cab.

For the long, long drive, he leans against the door, and looks out at the brown, green and grey scenery, as the city fades, and the country grows up around the roads.

It feels like leaving a dream world – returning to murky reality with a bump.

(-*-)

Castiel drags his suitcase out of his cab, thanks the driver vaguely, and hauls the bag behind him up to his front door. He'd called Sam and notified him that he was coming home early, and that he was very sorry about it. He'd been reassured when Sam told him that he'd found somewhere else to stay. At least he hadn't ruined the other man's vacation.

He's still surprised to find that there's a note pinned to the door, from Gabriel, which reads – 'Sam staying at mine. Sorry for the couch stains.'

He really should have guessed. But he'd never known Gabriel to invite a man home, especially not to stay. Under normal circumstances, he would consider the implications for his brother, and maybe ponder the relationship that might exist between the two men. But, today he is hollowed out by loneliness, and just wants to sleep until waking up is no longer an option.

Not even Pongo's frantic barking and welcoming licks to his hands can raise a smile, and Castiel leaves his suitcase in the corridor, going into the lounge and sitting heavily on his couch.

He jumps up again seconds later, remembering Gabriel's note.

He notices several dubious marks straight away and, sighing, goes to inspect the rest of the house.

(-*-)

His once beautiful, tidy little cottage has the look of a one-night-stand about it. – dishevelled and slightly ashamed of itself.

He doesn't even want to look at his bedroom, but he has to go in there to change the sheets (all his clean ones had been used, save for the emergency 'Gabriel did SOMETHING set' that he keeps in a sealed plastic box under a floorboard in his closet. Though extreme, it was a measure that he had desperate need of, especially after the ghost fiasco of Halloween 2008.)

With the bed tidied, he opens his laptop, intending to order in some groceries, knowing that Gabriel will have eaten him out of house and home. But, he loses his momentum, and ends up finding his way to the pantry, searching for something that had escaped his brother's voracious appetite.

He really should have an emergency food box, maybe next time.

He stops himself – there would be no next time.

The only food available is a half loaf of stale bread and some eggs. With a sigh, he sets about making French toast. He puts it on to cook, then looks out the window, wondering what he should wear to the wedding tomorrow, hoping that nothing terrible has happened to his good suit.

Then he thinks of Dean, and has to close his eyes against the muddy English view, trying to block out the memory of LA, and the sunny, gorgeous week he had spent there.

He leaves the soaked slices in the pan for too long, and they burn. He slings the burnt food into the bin, then, after a second, shoves the pan into the trash as well.

Castiel picks up the one other survivor of the Food-pocalypse, a half bottle of Vermouth, and proceeds to strip out of his clothes, climb into bed, and drink himself into the night.

He falls asleep, not soon enough in his opinion, bundled up in his duvet (which smells like chocolate) and dreaming about being very very upset, because he was meant to be bringing Balthazar a wedding cake – and it had fallen apart in the sun.

Castiel snaps awake in the dark, his mouth unpleasantly dry and his arm stretched out across the bed. He looks at the woefully empty space beside him for a moment, before hearing again the loud banging that had woken him in the first place.

He sits up, curses the darkness, grabs a baggy jumper and pulls it on over his underwear, shivering as he bare feet hit the cold floor. Pongo is leaping at the door when Castiel shuffles downstairs. He can see Gabriel's small silhouette through the side window, and he sighs inwardly. He was not in the mood for Gabriel's brand of comfort. (Drunken hugs and the application of a lot of cake).

He crosses one arm over his body, reaches the other up to unlatch the door.

Cold winter air rushes in gleefully, chasing all the way up his bare legs.

"Gabriel, I appreciate the thought but..."

A suitcase flops forwards and narrowly misses his foot.

Ah. That explained the shadow.

He looks out into the night, hoping that it isn't a lost tourist, mistaking him for a B&B yet again. That's when he spots Dean, sitting in the shadow of his porch, hunkered down against the cold.

"Dean?"

Dean, looks up at him, almost surprised.

"Oh good, you're home." He eases himself to his feet. "I was starting to worry. You know – that it was the wrong house, wrong country...I may have tried to pick your lock...can I have my credit card back?"

He's cut off when Castiel throws himself forwards and hugs him tightly.

"You left without saying goodbye." Dean mutters. "And...this should be a thing, but I hate flying, I'm a little drunk...and, can we just pretend you never left?"


	18. Chapter 18

The outside world, is fiendishly cold.

A fresh snowfall blankets the fields and the road, forcing Gabriel and Sam to walk all the way to Castiel's cottage. Gabriel carries a plastic box of fresh waffles, Sam, a thermos of warmed syrup. Like two incredibly odd looking wise men in a Christmas parade of human misery. They are going to comfort someone heartbroken, the best way they know how. Gabriel with his baked goods, Sam armed with a comforting puppy face and the willingness to hug a stranger.

It's weird that, despite living in his house for a week, sleeping with his brother, and going through his possessions – Sam still has not met Castiel face to face.

Gabriel had given him a brief rundown of Castiel's character while he made breakfast for his daughters and waited for the sitter to arrive.

"He's a nerd. I mean, an old school nerd. No battlestar-whovian-browncoat-live-long-and-screw-George-Lucas stuff. Strictly Tolstoy and these shitty documentaries about...Germaine Greer and the history of the burrito...actually that one was pretty interesting."

Sam had raised an eyebrow.

"How do you know all that stuff?"

Gabriel hooded his eyes and smiled slightly. "Are you insinuating that I am a nerd? Samuel Winchester?"

"Maybe."

"Uh-huh." Gabriel served oatmeal deftly and boxed up some waffles to take to Cas's. "Well, better to be a nerd than a Leng xue za zhong like Balthazar"

So, as they tramp up the front path to the cottage, Sam isn't sure what he's expecting. An English professor? Little glasses, maybe a sweater vest. Or...a hipster with argyle sweaters and a totally-un-ironic tote bag with a quote from Ulysses on it.

What he's not expecting, when the door opens in response to Gabriel's sharp knock. Is his brother.

Dean. With a sheet wrapped around his waist, and three large, dark, hickeys on his chest.

Sam blinks at his brother.

Dean grins at the waffles.

"I love this country." He grins, reaching out and taking the box from Gabriel's unresisting hands. Dean disappears into the house with his prize, leaving Sam and Gabriel on the doorstep.

"What..." Sam opens and closes his mouth a few times, but no more words appear.

"Shen sheng de gao wan" Supplies Gabriel in hushed tones.

"Sam, bring your boyfriend in for breakfast!" Dean yells from inside the cottage. "Cas, throw on some pants, we've got company."

Sam and Gabriel step into the cottage in the same dreamlike trance, following the sound of Dean's voice into the kitchen, where he is busy slapping waffles onto plates, still wearing only a sheet, knotted hastily at the waist. He turns to look at them.

"Well, don't just stand there, put some syrup on them. I have to go find clothes."

With that he ducks out of the kitchen, and Sam hears Dean's bare feet pummelling the stairs as he heads towards the bedroom.

"Sam...give it to me straight...did I die of hypothermia? Is this a coma dream? Some kind of confused 'please wait, heaven needs time to load' type thing?"

"I really hope not." Castiel says as he enters the kitchen, calm and poised, especially for a man in only black dress pants. "It's nice to finally meet you Sam."

Sam reaches out and shakes Castiel's offered hand, wondering why in the hell Castiel's nails are painted red.

Gabriel forgoes the handshake to leap forwards and hug Castiel around then middle, licking his ear in an apparently boundary-free attempted to freak him out.

"This is a good day – at least now I can stop wondering if you're adopted." Gabriel grins, snatching the syrup from Sam and going to douse the waffles in it.

"Indeed." Castiel says dryly, inspecting his nails before softening and smiling as Dean barrels down the stairs and puts his arms around him.

"Did I miss anything?" Dean nuzzles the same side of Castiel's face that Gabriel had gleefully licked, but Castiel seems unconcerned.

Sam is a little too wigged out by his brother's almost cocker spaniel like exuberance to comment.

"Ooh, waffles." Dean says, like he hadn't already seen them. He lowers his mouth to Castiel's neck, inching over the naked skin towards his shoulder in messy, open mouthed kisses.

Sam looks hurriedly away, but not before Castiel's blissed out face is etched on to his retinas for the rest of time.

"Quit being such a prude." Dean mutters, in between mouthfuls of Castiel. "God, it's like you haven't been gaying things up allllll week."

Sam blushes, ferociously.

Dean laughs darkly.

"How did you know?" Sam demands, turning around to confront his brother, only to be met with Dean's startled eyes, frozen in the act of biting behind Castiel's ear.

"Dude...seriously? I was joking." Dean's face is completely stunned, and Sam feels his stomach hitch, he hadn't meant it to come out like this. "You, slept...with the short guy?"

A spatula whizzes past Sam's ear, smacking the wall behind Dean and Castiel.

A muttered 'Hou-zi de pi-gu'follows the projectile.

Spatula number two narrowly misses an antique clock hanging over the range.

"I'm sorry, I mean, did you seriously fuck the short guy who has sucky aim!" Dean amends.

A wooden spoon hits Castiel in the forehead.

"Gabriel, Gou huang tang!" He snaps.

The kitchen is silent.

"I knew you watched the Firefly DVD's I got you!" Gabriel hoots in delight.

Castiel closes his eyes and sighs.

(-*-)

Sitting around the dining table, in a kitchen that is now more familiar to Sam than his own, the events of the past week gradually come out.

And so does Sam.

"I never met a guy I liked this much before." He says, carefully watching Dean's face for signs of a mental breakdown. "And...I wasn't really looking for it, but, it happened, and it's real – like, it matters. So, I think I'm going to stay here, with Gabriel."

Dean blinks.

"But...I'll still visit you all the time, and on holidays, and we can email and skype and do that tumblr thing..."

Dean holds up a hand.

"Sam, I..." he glances at Castiel, and keeps speaking, even though Sam gets the sense that it's not just aimed at him. "I think, I want to stay in England too. At least, if you want me here."

Castiel looks at Dean like he's made of gold, and it's hard for Sam to look at, so he looks at Gabriel, and feels a smile grown on his face.

"I'd love you to stay." Castiel says quietly. "But...you have your band...your life is over there."

"Cas...it doesn't matter."

"Yes. It does." Castiel tells him, sharply. "Your life, your commitments...they matter. So...as long as you want to stay here, for Sam, you can. But, you will never have to stay because of me. Because I would follow you, anywhere."

What follows is the grosses display of Dean-on-unsuspecting-mortal make-out session that Sam has ever witnessed.

He's pretty sure that no one has ever made those noises without getting paid for it and hosed down at the end of the day.

He's distracted from the smooch fest by Gabriel's hand landing on his.

Sam turns to look at him.

"Sam...tell me something, honestly..." Gabriel begins, his hand squeezing Sam's.

Sam's heart thuds painfully, something important is about to happen, he knows it.

"...Do you think there was too much vanilla in the waffles?"

Sam kisses the smirk off of Gabriel's face, and isn't even thrown when Dean whips a napkin at his head and whines 'Saaam, stop ruining men for me – I never wanted to see that."

*Leng xue za zhong – apparently, 'Merciless Bastard'. Taken from the lexicon of Firefly. 

*Shen sheng de gao wan – (exclamation) Holy Testicle! 

* Hou-zi de pi-gu (Monkey's butt). 

*Gou huang tang (Enough of this nonsense).


	19. Chapter 19

"This is pretty impressive." Dean said as he entered the reception room, and accepted a champagne flute from a passing waiter.

"Hmmm." Castiel still looked as pinched and nervous as he had when they'd departed from the cottage to get to Balthazar's reception on time.

"I'm serious, from this spread, you'd never guess the guy was an asshole." Dean handed the champagne to Castiel. "Calm down."

"He's my boss...oh God I shouldn't have let you talk me into this."

"Yeah well, 'persuasive when naked' is kind of my middle name." Dean took in Castiel's stressed out posture and sighed. "It will be fine, he can't fire you just for bringing a date to an event he wanted to be hell for you. If he tries, Sam will sue him. And I will...write a song about what a jerk he is...and sing it to him...on his birthday...every year."

Dean is glad when Castiel's frown inches into a smile.

"You're right. It's going to be fine."

"That's the spirit." Dean spotted a flash of blond hair and douchey tux across the room. "Drink up – it's show time."

"I wish." Castiel muttered, raising the glass and draining it. Dean knew what he meant. Castiel could dress up and sing the house down in front of a hundred strangers. But one conversation with Balthazar, and he just might faint off of his loafers.

Officially, this wasn't the 'reception' it was the bit before the wedding when the guests could drink champagne and eat sugared almonds (which, why would they want to?) before trooping outside to the arbour that had been set up outside in the snow, draped with white lights and other fancy crap that Dean had kind of zoned out for.

It took exactly eight nanoseconds after their arrival for Balthazar to find them.

He swept up to them, fully dressed for his wedding, and practically glowing with anger. Ok, so he smiled and welcomed all the guests he met on his way across the room, but his eyes were like twin missiles, ready to reduce both of them to dark smears on the floor.

But, Dean had dealt with far worse in his life. He'd performed to drunk bar flies, and packed concert halls full of screaming fan girls. He could handle one pissy British guy.

"Hey, Balthazar! Congrats." He smiles, one arm draped around Castiel's shoulder.

Balthazar glares daggers at him.

Dean glares machetes back.

"Castiel...this is totally unprofessional." Balthazar hisses. "You can't just...turn up here, with an unexpected guest...a date. This is work."

"I know, I've had this job for years." Castiel says, placidly. "And it's never been a problem before...not that I've had a date to bring to any other wedding."

"Well, things change. Don't they?" Dean says, pleasantly. "Don't worry about me, I can just...fade into the background, you won't even know I'm here."

Someone at the back of the room gushed, "Oh my God, I think I just saw Dean Winchester."

"See, invisible." Dean smirked.

Balthazar turned puce. "This is beneath you, Castiel. I can't believe you would be this childish."

"And I can't believe I wasted my time on you, when you were so clearly wrong for me." Castiel kept his tone perfectly cordial, but Dean could feel the bristly waves of anger rolling off of him. "But, that's a mistake that's behind me now, so, if you'd like to step aside, I can make a few notes on your fucking arbour, and go home to have sex."

Balthazar opened and closed his mouth a few times, before settling on a retort. "You...are so fired."

"Great, then I can sue your ass and hire the fancy architect, that I helped you find for your gauche little villa, to add a sex wing to my cottage with my settlement money." Castiel smiled, a tight, wolfish grin. "My advice, think this through. You've got a family to support now...or you will have, in ten minutes."

Balthazar sputtered and turned an unbecoming shade of burgundy. He turned to snap at Dean, "If you think you're getting a free meal out of this...farce,"

"Hey, I'm good." Dean smiled. "We had breakfast in bed...but, just to make it easier for you, Cas can just...sit in my lap, and I can share his place setting." He glanced at Castiel. "What're we having?"

"Veal parmesan"

Dean rolled his eyes and groaned in a way that stopped the conversations of everyone in a ten foot radius. "Mmm...Veal."

He actually saw one of Balthazar's eyes bug out before he whipped around and stalked away.

Dean squeezed Castiel's shoulder. "You were great."

Castiel leant against him and shrugged. "You were here."

(-*-)

Comparatively, the wedding was almost dull.

Well, the first half anyway.

Dean and Castiel sat at the back, and Castiel made some notes on the vows and the flowers. Balthazar managed to not look at them, and Bella seemed happy enough with her wedding. She looked amazing, even Dean had to admit that – in long dark red dress with a little crown thing made of red berries and mistletoe.

Castiel had to admit that Bella and Balthazar made an excellent couple, both were as ruthless as the each other in business, and neither would put up with the other's foolishness.

He was also much happier than he thought he'd ever be to see Balthazar marry someone else.

Castiel took in the extraordinary joy on Bella's face, and it was really quite something to see. He'd avoided looking at her as much as possible in the past, it was too painful to look at what he would never be, and to be able to compare himself to her, always finding himself sub par.

Bella was pretty, there was no denying it, her dark green eyes and long dark hair. Her nose was the perfect cross between button and pointed, and her skin was amazing, clear and pale, except for...

Castiel blinked.

Then blinked again.

No.

Oh no.

He could not have...

But, the sight remained, undeniable and clear, even from his seat at the back of the wedding party. A mole on Bella's right cheek, a tiny, pale brown mark, the shape of a crescent, that he knew without checking, would be level with the iris of her right eye, and would line up with another mole just under her hairline, and one more on her collar bone.

He knew, because he'd seen it before, as he'd seen her perfect nose and gorgeous eyes before.

The ceremony ended, and Castiel stood and threw confetti over the happy couple, but internally, he was reeling.

How could he have been so blind?

"Are you ok?" Dean asked, at his elbow as they headed back inside.

"Yes..." Castiel said vaguely. "I just...give me a second."

He stepped away and caught up with Bella, where she stood beside Balthazar, talking to her parents on the edge of the dance floor.

"Congratulations." He said, offering his hand, first to a sullen Balthazar, and then to Bella.

"Thank you." Bella said, smiling.

"I hope both of you will be very happy together, and I promise to write this up as soon as possible. It really was a lovely service." He smiles with all the sincerity he feels, which is more than he thought he'd experience. But he is happy for them, and he does wish them the best.

"I'll be the first one to buy a copy." Bella's father promises, and he and Balthazar exchange smiles.

Castiel touches Bella's hand, and leans a little closer to whisper, "You always looked good in red."

Bella blushes, and simultaneously looks flattered and aghast.

"I won't say anything." Castiel promises, whispering quickly, aware that Balthazar's attention will not be distracted for long. "Congratulations, you look wonderful."

He leaves the group before Bella has a chance to respond, and finds Dean by the door, waiting for him.

"What was that about?" He asks.

"Oh, just...wishing them well." Castiel smiles. He glances back at Bella, and she catches his eye – mouthing 'thank you' through the crowd.

He smiles. "Let's go."

"You're not going to tell me what..."

"Sex, Dean."

Dean blinks. "No fair, now I can't remember what we were talking about."

Castiel slides past him and into the foyer. "That's going to come in handy."

They take his car back to the cottage, and Castiel feels just a hint of warmth replace his previous icy dread. He'd faced Balthazar, managed to keep his job, and he had Dean. It had been one of the best days of his life.

And, he'd finally managed to solve the mystery, of what happened to Mark.


	20. Chapter 20

Christmas day is actually...fun.

It actually starts to freak Castiel out how much fun it is.

His last Christmas (and the ones before it, since he'd stopped living at home) had endured a heart clenching lead up, where he hoped that he would not be spending it 1.) Alone, sadly eating cake and drinking heavily with his dog and an awful collection of porn. Or 2.) with Gabriel – sadly eating cake and drinking heavily with his brother, and his awful collection of porn, once his nieces had gone to bed.

The Novaks had not been lucky in love.

Gabriel had been pathologically single since his failed marriage, and the death of his beloved wife. Castiel could understand it, and the string of one night stands that followed. But it did not stop him worrying that Gabriel was living for his children, rather for himself.

Castiel had tried to foster a more successful romantic life, but as he was shy, bookish, and intensely interested in history and literature, there were few men lining up to try and lure him from his cottage. Castiel blamed himself, he wasn't exactly effective in pursuing a love life. But he'd tried.

Then, Balthazar.

And his misery had actually trebled, once the initial, love struck, sex drunk days were over and done with.

And now, Castiel sat in his brother's living room, eating cake and drinking red wine with a giant of a man who was apparently infatuated with his brother, and who, despite having lent him his home, Castiel had not entirely gotten to know yet.

Gabriel sat on the other side of Sam, alternately squeezing the man's thigh and feeding him small cookies. They were safe from wide childish eyes, because the girls had been delighted to meet their new 'Uncle Dean' and had confiscated him, forcing him out into the garden to help them with their latest snowman.

The last Castiel had seen of him, Dean had been covered in children, laughing, and only half-struggling as they buried him in snow.

Castiel sighed and sank back into the warm sofa.

It really was a good day.

They'd opened their presents with the girls (save for one, from Gabriel to Sam, that had remained wrapped, and would stay that way, until the children were in bed) Dean and Castiel had had plenty of time since the wedding to fret over present shopping, and they had both sought their brother's advice. So it was that Castiel received a 'Kindle' that he was still trying to decipher, and that had come pre-loaded with the 'rockin' gay Kama sutra' – courtesy of Gabriel. And a set of black silk, French lingerie.

Dean's present was something Castiel had agonised over, and he'd been prepared for the worst when he let Gabriel take him internet shopping. But, he'd finally settled on a pair of Vivienne Westwood, white, regent ankle boots with stiletto heels, and a book entitled '1000 things to do with bacon' – which Gabriel had insisted that he purchase.

Castiel had to admit that number 182 did look quite appealing.

He also admitted, if only to himself, that he was quite looking forward to seeing those boots looked, when pointed towards the ceiling.

Gabriel grew bored of feeding Sam, and moved instead to sit in his new boyfriends lap, waving a cooking over Castiel's nose.

"Open up."

Castiel glared, but accepted the cookie.

Gabriel grinned, "You are far less of a sourpuss now you're getting your ass pounded regularly."

Sam choked on his remaining cookie, and looked around, just in case the children were around. But no, they were still outside, now helping Dean to build an igloo.

Castiel remained poker-faced. "Who says I am?"

There was a beat of silence, in which Sam digested more knowledge than he'd ever wanted to have about his brother. Gabriel finally snickered, and punched Castiel on the arm.

"I'm proud of you, you're not nearly as dull as I thought you were, like, a week ago."

"Thank you." Castiel muttered. "May I have another cookie?"

(-*-)

It was a weird-ass new year.

Dean had been in a bit of a weird place for years, with work, and his second life as Brandy, and his snaffled liaisons with practically every public service employee that Sam had ever met.

But, he'd never expected to meet a fellow drag act, let alone fall in love, and with a man he'd known for less than a full season.

Still, his relationship with Cas looked practically run-of-the-mill next to the fact that his brother had spontaneously tossed his hetero card to the side, and shacked up with a midget-baker, and his three apple cheeked children.

Said children were actually with a sitter, as Castiel had thrown a small dinner party for the four of them, so that they could get to know each other's brothers a little more before Dean and Castiel hightailed it off to America.

That had been a surprise. Dean had thought that nothing could make Castiel want to leave England, but, it turned out, a Broadway scout had uttered the magic word 'Chicago' after getting Cas's number from a confused Ellen, who'd never had anyone of note in her bar before. But, the guy had seen Castiel (or rather, Cherry) perform, and now, Cas had the chance to be on stage.

Dean couldn't be happier, especially as it meant that he got to take Castiel back to the states with him.

The one thing that soured the occasion, aside from Dean's worry over leaving Sam in the icy land of midgets and blood pudding, were the noises coming from upstairs.

Specifically from the bathroom that first Gabriel, and then Sam had excused themselves to use.

Dean lowered his eyes uncomfortably and coughed loudly.

Castiel sighed. "He always does this. At every. Single. Party."

Dean winced as the light fitting over the table shook. The roast that had been served up some time ago was practically gone, and they were waiting for the others to return before dessert.

Castiel sighed again.

"What do you usually do? When he's..." Dean winced again.

"Entertain my other guests, and try to ignore the noise."

Dean glanced across the table.

"I don't see any other guests."

"That's because they're upstairs, fu..." Dean cuts Castiel off with a kiss, effectively halting the word that would ruin his and Sam's relationship forever.

Castiel slid his hands up to rest at the back of Dean's neck, and the taller man lifted him up, setting him on the edge of the dinner table.

"You'll damage the flatware." Castiel whispers.

Dean pushes the plates to one side with one sweep of his arm, sending two to the floor in a crash, a wineglass tinkling after.

"I'll buy you some more." He promises, pushing Castiel back onto the rumpled table cloth and sucking at his neck.

"That doesn't mean you get to top." Castiel mutters, socked feet pressing into Dean's waist regardless.

Dean sighs theatrically. "Fine. But, I get two slices of cake after, and, you have to keep listening for Sam and Gabriel."

Castiel thought for a second.

"Deal."

They carefully rearranged themselves, and Dean unfastened both their pants while Castiel reached for the bottle of salad oil.

Somehow, both of them forget to listen out, and to keep quiet, somewhere between the discovery that Castiel is wearing his Christmas underwear and that Dean bought himself the matching set.

(-*-)

Sam still hasn't forgiven them by next Christmas.


End file.
